


A Knight's Heart

by Thunderdaughter



Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderdaughter/pseuds/Thunderdaughter
Summary: “Knighthood is not merely a career. It is a calling. It will consume, transform, and occupy every minute, every inch of your life. There will be no room left for the person you are now – only for the knight you will become.”Django knew those words well, and had lived by them for most of his lifetime. But now, having stepped away from his previous calling, and busy building a new life for himself in the quiet town of Portia, he finds himself hit by an emotion he'd never experienced before - just as new dangers threaten his chance at a peaceful retirement. Can he keep the city, and the woman, he loves safe from the evils of ancient warfare and cruelty?
Relationships: Builder/Django (My Time At Portia), Female Builder/Django (My Time At Portia)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

“Knighthood is not merely a career. It is a calling. It will consume, transform, and occupy every minute, every inch of your life. There will be no room left for the person you are now – only for the knight you will become.”

Eleven-year-old Django heard those words over and over from his mentor, but never quite understood them. The twenty-five-year-old Storm Knight had them written on his heart, and took them for granted as his destiny. At thirty-five, having shed the burden of his old life and reclaimed his birth name, he hoped to be allowed to let them go at last. But even then, his days were consumed with his new calling, learning to cook food that would make the strong weep and the mighty fall to their knees, and his evenings with earning money to sustain that dream by training the next generation of sword-wielders. So there was little time for more personal matters.

One of his most promising students, a young firebrand named Sam who was already learning to master even the lightning blows that had been Django's own trademark, was from a quiet frontier town called Portia, which she described with a homesick eloquence that quite won him over. When she returned home to join the Civil Corps there, she sent her old teacher a letter, pointing out rather unsubtly that the one crucial element of civilization that Portia lacked was...a restaurant. Django, having nowhere else in particular to go, took the hint, and his savings, and founded the Round Table, working day and night to get it up and running. 

The restaurant was a roaring success, and only part of that was due to it being the only dining option in town. Portia, being a relatively new town, welcomed immigrants with open arms, and Django's warmth and charm, along with his talents at the stove, made him friends everywhere he turned. Before he knew it, he was the center of town gossip, everyone's confidant, trusted and respected by all. For eleven-year-old Toby, he was a father figure to replace the one he'd lost as a baby – for cheerful, eighteen-year-old Sonia, the boss who listened to her romantic woes and gave her sound advice – for the Mayor, a promising sign that Portia was attracting master craftsmen of all sorts – for Russo and Isaac, a comrade to swap old war stories with. There wasn't a night in the week that the Round Table wasn't humming with activity, and so Django, still, was too busy for personal matters. 

And then, one day, Maurice the Builder gave in to his wanderlust again, and left his small, half-broken-down workshop to his daughter Alienor. His beautiful, brilliant, talented daughter, whose graceful-if-calloused hands and sharp sea-green eyes could turn raw materials into the most amazing constructs, drawing light, music, and motion from wood, stone, and ore. Before Django realized that he should be putting up defenses around his heart, it was far, far too late. 

It started slowly, subtly, without his conscious awareness. She was a hard worker, something Django respected, and there were many nights she practically staggered into the Round Table, exhausted and hungry from a day spent ruin-diving or wrestling with huge slabs of rock and metal. She threw herself ravenously at every dish he served her, enjoying every bite with a passionate ecstasy that warmed his proud chef's heart. And when she wasn't eating with a group of friends – she made friends as easily as Django did himself – she would sit at the bar and draw him into conversations that sometimes lasted most of an evening. She had a gift for asking just the right questions to bring out his best stories, and she listened with absorbing interest as few others did. And she was a lively storyteller as well, whether she was making him laugh out loud with tales of her mischievous childhood with poor, overworked Aunt Kendra, or explaining in vivid and loving detail what amazing projects she planned to accomplish just as soon as she worked out how to manufacture infinite quantities of carbon steel bars. Sometimes, she'd stop by in the morning after fetching her daily commission, and challenge him to a sparring match or two, for training purposes. He never sparred at anywhere near his full ability, of course – the Lightning Fist could kill, and had, too often – but she still lost every match at first. But she never let it distress her, grinning cheekily at him as she picked herself up from the ground and promising, “Next time. Next time I'll get you.” He found himself anticipating her visits, feeling the world brighten when she walked through the door, and being vaguely disappointed on the few days he didn't see her at all.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't realize how deeply in danger he was, though, until the day he caught a cold. He'd been sniffling and sneezing all morning, to the point where Gale had insisted he hire Russo to take over the restaurant for the day so that he didn't infect others. Grateful for the rare reprieve, he had gone home and settled onto his sofa with a pot of tea and a blanket. He must have fallen asleep for a time, because he was awakened by a hesitant knock on the door. “Come in, it's unlocked,” he called. 

Alienor entered, closing the door softly behind her, a pot of something steaming in her hands. “I heard you were sick, and I thought...well,” she bit her lip, “I thought you might like someone else to cook for you for a change. So I made you some dinner.”

“You cooked for me?” Something brilliant and warm was blooming in his chest, making it hard for him to think clearly. _No one ever cooks for me..._

She blushed, looking down. “I know, it's a bit like coming to Peach to show him a crayon design for a stone pickaxe you've made...It's not anywhere near as good as what you make, but, well, seafood stew is hard to screw up completely, and at least you don't have to do the work...” 

_She remembered my favorite, and she cooked for me..._ Django was suddenly finding it hard to put together a coherent sentence, but managed, “That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you. It smells delicious.”

She had dimples when she smiled. “I'm glad. I'll get you a fresh pot of tea, too. Holly tea is good for colds, even if it's bitter.” She set the pot on the table in front of him, and put a spoon, fork, and napkin down next to it. It did indeed smell heavenly, he noticed, and it was spicy enough to break through even his congested head. She pulled a hot loaf of bread out from her pack and laid it down next to the pot. “The bread is Martha's, at least, so that should be edible even if the rest isn't.”

He caught her hand in his for a moment, and almost raised it to his lips, but remembered his cold, and refrained. “This is wonderful. You're wonderful. Thank you, Alienor.”

Her cheeks turned an appealing shade of pink, and she squeezed his hand. “Anytime, Django. You care so well for everyone else in town – someone ought to care for you once in a while.” She stood looking down at him for a moment or two, her green eyes soft and gentle, before she seemed to remember what she'd been doing, and took the teapot to the kitchen to be refilled with boiling water and fresh herbs. 

He realized that his heart was pounding in his chest, and took a deep breath, wondering why the world was suddenly spinning around him. _Maybe I'm sicker than I thought._ He took a bite of stew, and closed his eyes, savoring the rich, spicy flavor, distracting himself from the emotions threatening to overwhelm him by evaluating the balance of herbs and flavorings with a professional's expertise. _She's used a bit more cumin than I would have, but it's not a bad choice. Maybe a bit less pepper. I wonder where she got the coriander? That's fresh, that is._

He asked the last question out loud as she returned with a pot of steaming tea, and she replied, “Oh, there are a few patches of it out by Amber Island, where the mayor wants to set up that Haunted Cave of his. I'll show you when you feel better.” 

“I'd like that, thank you. I can always use a good source of fresh herbs. And this, this is delicious. You're an excellent cook, my dear.” The endearment slipped from his lips before he could stop it, but she didn't seem to notice. 

“That's the highest praise I've ever gotten in my life.” Her dimples showed again. “And I'm counting the time that Russo looked at the tea table I spent two days carefully crafting for him, nodded once without changing expression, and said, 'That'll do.'”

Django laughed out loud. “That's Russo for you. From him, that's an accolade. Only Ginger and Gale get his soft side.”

“Well, I can't dislike anyone who's kind to Ginger. Speaking of which,” she said hesitantly, “could I ask your advice? 

“Always.”

“See, Albert approached me wanting to get closer to Ginger, and he wants me to get him a book she likes, for him to give her, and I, well, I don't know if I should.”

“Do you...have feelings for Albert yourself?” The thought squirmed painfully in his stomach. _He doesn't deserve her,_ he told himself. _That's why I don't like the idea, that's all. I just don't want to see her hurt._

He was reassured by the shudder that went through her at the thought. “Ick, no. I mean, he's not a bad person per se, I like him well enough as a friend, and he's a good competent businessman I can work with...but he's such a womanizer. I really don't know if I should be helping him get closer to Ginger – but on the other hand, she's so lonely, and if he ended up being an actual friend to her, it might not be a bad thing. And she'd love the book. But if he hurts her...”

“If he hurts her, I promise you, Gust will rip him to shreds with his bare hands and feed him to QQ. And Albert cannot afford to alienate Gust- he's not only his best friend, but he's the genius fueling A&G's success and Albert knows that very well. I don't think you'd have to worry about Albert being anything but a complete gentleman to Ginger.”

“You have a point. Thanks, Django. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Just returning the favor.” He smiled at her, and took another bite of the stew, its warmth filling his heart as well as his stomach. 

They chatted for a while, easily and freely, as he ate, until he finished and she mock-sternly ordered him to settle down and get some rest, “because the town can't function without its best source of good food and gossip, and you know it.” 

“Nor can it grow without its best Builder – we can't risk you getting sick too. But, my dear...thank you. You know how to warm an old knight's heart.”

“It's the best and noblest heart in Portia,” she said lightly. “It should never be cold.” She dropped a kiss softly on his forehead and was gone before he could recover enough to say anything.

His hand reached up, unconsciously, to touch the spot her lips had brushed so briefly, and he closed his eyes as his heart wrenched painfully inside him. _You old fool. A pretty young girl who is kind to everyone is kind to you, and you lose all track of reality._

But he knew, with sudden certainty, that not all the adulation, fawning attention, and hero-worship that had ever been heaped on the Storm Knight would ever matter one-tenth as much to him as one bite of the stew that Alienor had made, simply for Django, as himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe it was the stew, but he recovered quickly and was back at work soon, enjoying the hum of activity all around him. Determined to keep his head and his heart, he told himself firmly that he loved Alienor exactly as he loved Sam, a protegée, almost a daughter, a delightful young woman he taught, advised in a fatherly way, and was proud of. Of course he enjoyed her company- nothing wrong with that – and sparring with her was an excellent way to keep his own skills sharp while ensuring a new generation of protectors for an all-too-vulnerable civilization. She had finally started winning regularly, even, to her great pride and delight – and he wasn't holding back nearly as hard as he had at first. 

And when she fell in love with one of the handsome young bachelors in town, as she was bound to do eventually, he told himself sternly, he would be thrilled for her, would rejoice at her wedding as he had for Sam and Emily, and if he wept, they would be tears of happiness. _Please let it be someone worthy of her, though – Arlo or Remington perhaps, they're brave and honorable young men, or Dr. Xu, who is kindness and gentleness personified, or Gust, who has a good heart despite his tactless exterior. Don't let it be someone who'd hurt her. Please, Mother Earth, don't make me watch her heart break._ He didn't think she was inclined towards women, as Sam was, but in either case, it would be someone young and attractive who claimed her heart, no doubt. And as long as they loved her well and cared for her, that was all that mattered to him, he thought.

It had been several weeks, and he had clung firmly to that resolution. His heart still brightened when she walked through the door, but he was careful to behave no differently to her than he did towards any of the other young people in Portia. Today, she had yet to make an appearance, but he told himself firmly that she was a busy woman, and he was a busy man, and it was no cause for distress if he didn't happen to see her every single day. 

He was listening to Mei and Erwa, who were taking turns eating lunch and eagerly chattering to him all about their new printing press and camera, and how the combination was going to revolutionize the Portia Times and the entire journalistic world, when Antoine burst in, clearly full of Drama and Important News. “The Eufaula Tunnel collapsed!”

Mei, with her reporter's instincts, swiveled around in her seat in one swift motion. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Arlo, Sam, and Mint are trapped! Remington told the Mayor that Mint's hurt, but they're all right otherwise, he heard Arlo and Sam call out to him, and he thinks there's a way to get them out through Ingalls' Mine. He and Alienor are going in right now.”

“Alienor?” Django asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “What's she doing there? She's not Civil Corps.”

“Mint asked her to check out the tunnel's structure, so she was down there when it happened. And Remi might need a Builder, you know, where there are old gates and doors and things.”

Django nodded. It was true. He'd been down in the Mine a few times, secretly, out of curiosity and to stay in training. There were plenty of old doors and gates blocking tunnels. There were also gigantic tunnel worms that dug up from underground, sometimes right under your feet, and cell worms that could send electrical currents blazing down a victim's spine – something he'd used to his advantage as the Storm Knight, manipulator of lightning in all its forms, but which could kill an ordinary human in seconds. And then there were the Variants, once human, now twisted beyond recall, but intelligent still in their way, weapon-wielders and fire-throwers, fierce and violent, with nothing left to lose or fear, at the service of their gigantic, thuggish Honchos...he thought of Arlo, so young but so stubbornly determined to prove himself, and Sam, who would dive into danger without a thought for the sheer fun of it, Mint, who was no fighter and injured to boot... _they'll need to protect him as they go_...and oh, Alienor, darling Alienor, almost as reckless as Sam, especially when those she cared for were in danger, and less battle-hardened... _Remington, I'm counting on you, you're the only calm and sensible one of the lot of them, and you can fight like a demon, I know you can. Dear Mother Earth, don't swallow them whole, we need them all...I need..._ he squashed that thought hastily before it formed.

It was the longest day he had yet spent in Portia, perhaps the longest of his life so far, and it went by in a daze. He barely managed to concentrate on his cooking, the anxious knot sitting like a cold rock of ice in his stomach. Finally, just before the dinner rush, the door opened and a rush of familiar voices made him spin around, relief etched on every inch of his face. 

“That was the most fun I've had in MONTHS!” Sam had clearly not lost an ounce of her natural ebullience. 

“Falling rocks, giant worm creatures, a spinning ancient relic of death...this is your idea of fun, in the Corps? I think I'll stick to my furnaces.” Alienor's soft chuckle was sweet to his ears, until his brain caught up with her words. 

“What's this about a spinning ancient relic of death?” Sonia, ever curious, got in the question before he could. 

“Well, you see, Mint thought he felt a draft in one of the tunnels, and we went to investigate, and found ourselves in this big open space...”

“Just about when Alienor and I got through from the other side,” Remington interrupted.

“Seems we woke up this giant old relic, like a spinning top with spider limbs,” Arlo added, as Remington paused to take a swig of lemonade. 

Django listened intently as he and Sonia served dinner and the Corps members wove the threads of the story in their usual cheerful three-way tangle, with Alienor adding the occasional comment when she could get a word in edgewise. He knew their favorite dishes by heart, and had them prepared and set in front of the exhausted, hungry crew in no time at all. But the story they told chilled him to the bone. _Ancient killer relics, so close to Portia...what are they protecting?_

Better than the rest, he knew the damage the Ancients' monstrous creations could cause. He'd faced some of them in battle, seen the carnage they could leave in their wake, without pity or hesitation or any trace of the natural revulsion a human being felt about causing another human being's death. He shuddered, suddenly cold to the marrow. The fighters sitting at the table seemed very young to him, and terrifyingly few, to be Portia's main defense against such monstrosities. _And Alienor is a builder, not a fighter by nature...but she'll inevitably get drawn into this, her courage and sense of duty won't let her stay safely out of the fray. And where there's one of those things, there are bound to be more. The Ancients did nothing by halves, especially not death and destruction._

_Time to increase my training, and do some investigating on my own, in secret. The Storm Knight may be officially retired, but I won't, I can't let the young people bear all this burden. Especially not...not the woman I care so much for. The woman I love, Peach help me._ He would not have made the admission out loud, and he vowed to himself he never would, but the sight of her, bruised, tired, beautiful, and so terribly, terribly vulnerable, made it hard to keep lying to himself. _Foolish old man, old enough to be her father, far too old to pine over her like a lovesick teen...but I can turn my foolishness to her good, at least, wherever I can. Selfless, silent, disciplined love, as befits a knight for his lady, the old for the young. She need never know what I would do, or how much I feel, for her...but from this moment on, until I die, the Storm Knight is her devoted servant. And Portia's._


	4. Chapter 4

There are disciplines all knights are taught, deep meditations that can destroy fatigue and give the body the equivalent of a full night's sleep in an hour or so. After the Round Table closed for the evening, Django secluded himself in the back room and engaged in one of these, emerging at the end of the hour refreshed and ready for action. _Now. If I were a murderous ancient relic, placed here to guard...something, where would I be?_

The Collapsed Wasteland seemed the obvious choice, but then, the Civil Corps regularly patrolled the only ruins in the area, and they seemed clear enough. _At least, they've never produced anything any of the Corps members can't handle on their own, with one hand tied behind their backs. And Sam and Alienor found only Bandirats in WOW Industries. If any ancient attack machines had been left there, no doubt the rats found and destroyed them – Bandirats are ruthlessly, insatiably curious. There are ruins by the Tree Farm, and on the Western Plateau, and beyond the Somber Marsh...but I think that the first step ought to be to clear out Ingalls' Mine and the Eufaula Tunnel. If there was one there, so ready to be awakened, there might be more, and Gale and Mint haven't given up on pushing a tunnel through to Sandrock there. Those will be the next to be triggered, if I don't do something._

He took a bronze sword from the rack against the wall and strapped it carefully to his side under his surcoat, where it could remain concealed but be drawn in an instant if he needed it. It was a simple weapon, nothing more than a practice sword in fact, but bronze conducted electricity better than any other metal suitable for a sword, at least any other metal that the Builders currently knew how to forge. 

The quiet little town was sound asleep under a huge full moon, with no one stirring but Pinky the stray cat doing her nighttime hunting. She knew him as a regular source of fish scraps and milk, and greeted him with feline courtesy, rubbing against his ankles once and allowing him to rub the soft spot under her chin softly before she moved on. He heard the soft clip-clop of hooves overhead, recognizing Teddy's lighter gait. _Sam's on night patrol, I suppose. The robust energy of youth...but then, she knows some of the meditative disciplines too._ He deliberately slipped out of shadow for the briefest of seconds, and was pleased to see her head snap up and look alertly in his direction, relaxing only when she recognized him. _Well done._ He waved cheerfully at her, and called softly, “Just out for a moonlight stroll. Quiet watch to you.”

She waved cheerfully at him, and continued her rounds. _Not a bit of wasted energy. That's my girl._ Before she had gotten halfway down the elevated path, though, she stopped, looked carefully at the tree standing by A&G Construction, looked back at Django, and gestured with her head at it, as if to say, “I'll leave this one to you.” 

Django noted that the tree had an extra bit of shadow, and was shivering slightly, in a way that was not caused by the wind. His mouth quirked up at the edges. _Little rascal._ Casually, he sauntered over, as if going for his usual evening read on the bench. As he approached, he said out of the corner of his mouth, “You're caught, Toby. Go home.” Just in time to sustain his air of omniscience, he spotted the second shadow, and added, “You, too, Jack. Your sister has enough worries, she doesn't need to have to worry about you, too.”

“Awww, Sis was sleeping like a log. We'd've been back long before she ever woke up.” 

“And just what were you two imps off to do, anyway?” 

“We were gonna go hide in the cemetery to see if the ghost girl is real,” Toby said, completely unrepentant. 

“And what would you have done if she had been?” he asked, genuinely curious to see what they would come up with.

“Well, she's crying, isn't she?” Jack pointed out. “Maybe we could find out why she's sad and help her.”

“Very gallant of you,” Django said, not unkindly. “Tell you what. If you go home tonight like good boys, and stay there till morning, I'll have a word with your mother and sister, and I'll take you to the cemetery myself some night to keep watch for her. Maybe on the night of the Day of Memories, when ghosts are more likely to be out and about. A knight should always be ready to help a lady in distress, after all, even if she's dead.”

“You promise? You're the best!” Toby beamed. 

“On my honor as a knight. Now come on, let's get you home before your mother and your sister wake up and notice you're gone.”

“Ma thinks I'm staying over with Jack anyway.” 

Django gave them both a stern glare. “Then you've doubly no business running off. Can you imagine how Alice would feel if you ran off from her house and got into serious trouble, and she had to explain it to your Ma?”

“Sis knows we aren't going to get hurt in Portia. It's not like we'd go into the Collapsed Wasteland or anything.”

“I should hope you'd have more sense than that. In any case, back home with you. Shoo.” 

He followed behind them until they disappeared into the small apartment Alice and Jack shared, and then turned to go his own way, glancing up to share a silent laugh with Sam. _Boys. Was I ever so young?_ With a startled jolt, he realized that by their age, he'd already been apprenticed to his master, already a knight in training. _Was it worth it?_ he found himself wondering.

_A meaningless question. What's done is done – no amount of wondering will change the past. And there are many living now who would be dead, whole cities living in peace and comfort, because the Storm Knight existed. You had a purpose greater than yourself. And you still do._ He looked over at the Round Table, uncharacteristically quiet in the darkness. _People need good food and companionship, and cities need a center for community to grow and thrive. Life has to have joy in it, the simple pleasures that make it worth living. This is what you are for now._

_And what of joy and companionship for myself?_ The inner voice spoke up, and he hated himself the next instant for the selfishness of it. 

_You have friends aplenty, a good livelihood, children who look up to you, and a safer and more comfortable life than you've ever known before,_ he told himself sternly. _If you cannot find joy in that, you are a fool indeed. Self-pity never brought anything good. And...she'd still be too young for you, even if you'd never been a knight. But since you have been, you can do more than most to protect her, keep her safe, serve her as a knight ought. Remember your purpose._

He touched the handle of his sword, and walked with renewed determination down the main street, heading for the desert.


	5. Chapter 5

The desert was chilly under a blanket of sparkling stars, and Django paused for a moment to stare upwards, wondering. _Ack says his space station saw a couple of generation ships launched out into the void of space, before the Calamity, hoping to find more planets like ours. I wonder if any of them ever succeeded, or ever will. Maybe they'll come back someday, maybe they'll bring us all sorts of new ideas and technology- or maybe they'll come as conquerors and enslave us all. Or maybe we'll never see them again, maybe Earth will be a legend in their stories ages from now. Maybe they'll wonder what happened to us, wonder why we never reached out to join them...Who knows, maybe they've found friends, strange and wonderful creatures we'd never have imagined...or maybe they've been wiped out by vicious monsters. All it takes is a simple unexpected connection, or a misunderstanding in translation, to turn from one to the other in a second, sometimes..._

His philosophical meanderings were interrupted by the hiss of a desert hopper, rearing back to strike, fangs dripping venom. His own hand shot out instinctively, and the snake fell headless on the desert sand the next instant. _And here when I encounter a creature on my own world, one much closer kin to me than any alien, we try to kill the other immediately, out of fear. Perhaps...it's best we not seek out trouble anytime soon, until we've grown a bit as a species._

He didn't bother with the lift, leaping down the side of the quarry with the agility of a mountain goat. The mine's darkness was no barrier either – long training enabled him to see in very little light, and there were torches on the walls at regular intervals, and in places, the shine of hot lava glowing from beneath.

The first three levels held nothing surprising or particularly dangerous for him. Giant worms, brown and gold, fell before his sword with ease, and without a qualm. The variants were a different story – not that any of them were any match for him, but they were too human in appearance for him to kill comfortably. Whenever he could, he offered them the chance to yield before he struck the final blow, but none of them ever took it. _They're only defending their territory, even the worms...but the more I take down, the fewer there are to face Alienor later._ He was under no illusion that he could destroy them all – caves and tunnels honeycombed the mountain ranges between Portia and Sandrock, and all of them were inhabited. But it would take a while for more of them to move in, with any luck, and they'd waste some valuable time and energy fighting amongst themselves over the new territory and establishing hierarchies. 

He took some time to cache useful supplies on the way, having heard Alienor comment on how convenient it was that she had always seemed to find power stones or copper wires just before needing them. _Someone else must have done it before me. I wonder...maybe someone long dead, back before the mines were closed?_ Restorative meals, left in stasis packs to keep fresh and out of variant hands, he placed before the areas with the most dangerous monsters in them. _I might kill them now, but the best resting spots will always attract the fiercest and largest of the creatures. They'll be back by the time she comes through here next. At least I can make sure she's at her full strength before she has to take them on._

It was on the fourth, so far the deepest level explored by humans, that things began to seem odd. Trails that had been familiar to him were altered, as if large creatures – or machines- had passed through, opening new paths and closing others. Lava flows were diverted and crossing points damaged, so that at points he had to cross over perilously narrow and creaky bridges, or climb broken-down spiral “staircases” that barely merited the name, to avoid a sudden and very painful death. Where he could, he stabilized footholds and fixed broken planks, but he was no Builder, and the thought of Alienor coming down here alone, facing these treacherous pathways, made him cold inside. _She's a grown woman, I can't tell her not to...but when we spar, I'm going to focus hard on balance and posture. Not that she doesn't already climb like a monkey. An exquisitely beautiful monkey..._ He smiled fondly to himself, remembering times she'd almost given him a heart attack darting over rooftops and leaping over railings as if gravity were optional. _She is beauty, she is grace, if she knew some of the thoughts I've had about her she'd probably slap me in the face...ah, well._

His reverie was broken by a sound, a whistling of air that almost went unnoticed in the dark caverns. He thought for a moment that it was a final hiss of breath from the variant he'd just brought down, but the sound was coming from behind him. He turned, and saw a little crack in the wall, from which, when he put his hand close, he could feel a soft breeze. _A tunnel that isn't on the maps..._ he searched carefully, tracing his way backwards and forwards, until he found a place where the earth had shifted just enough to create a place where he could wiggle through.

A tunnel opened up to him, curving Sandrock-wards, if his directional sense was any indication. It was pitch-dark here, the torches that lit the rest of the mine completely absent. But part of knightly training was learning to move blind, and Django focused the rest of his senses intently on his surroundings. Cautiously, he edged forward, surprised that no foes emerged to challenge him. He could feel a gentle breeze on his face, as if there was air being circulated here by some power. 

The path twisted and turned, making it very difficult to follow without sight. He persisted, quietly and carefully placing each foot, listening for the hot rush of lava below or the sudden emergence of an enemy from the darkness, feeling for anything that gave or moved under his boots. Only stone met his feet, and the only sounds that broke the dead silence were those of his own making, which were few enough. 

As he moved, he became aware that light was returning, very slowly, to the tunnel. At first he noticed that he could distinguish the shapes of nearby rocks, and then the general curve of the tunnel, until finally he realized that there was a soft, dim glow coming from the ceiling and walls. _Bioluminescent mold? Or something technological?_ He looked more closely, and saw coils of glowing light between and among the rocks, almost like little serpents. Very like little serpents – one lifted its head and hissed at him. He pulled back, in surprise, but let it be. _Doesn't look like they attack unless provoked. And the light is useful._

Sound, too, suddenly entered into his consciousness, a hissing slithering sound alternating with a sharp, cold, metal-on-metal noise. As he approached, careful not to speed up or make noises that would give him away, the noises resolved themselves into voices. He hid behind a large rock to listen.

“You sssay the humans are weak before you – but it took only four of them to defeat that sssspinning monsstrosssity you introduced into OUR cavernssss...” The hissing, sibilant voice sounded indignant.

“That was only its first round. It learned. I have its data disc, which has recorded the moves and strategies of the humans. When it is rebuilt – which will not be long, we have sufficient spare parts for an army – we will reimplant this data disc and it will be stronger and smarter than before.” 

Django shivered. _It learns? Specifically, it's learned their fighting styles? Oh, this is bad, this is very bad. I've got to get my hands on that disc._

“If you ssssay ssso. But you have yet to tell Usss what you desssire with Our cavesss, and with Our children.”

“We have two purposes for you, for which you will be amply rewarded, not least by the extinction of the humans who trouble your caves and murder your children. We require you to dig tunnels for us into the mountains, or to allow us use of already-existing tunnels, and to give us safe passage that we may get the...devices into position surrounding the human town before the final battle begins. For the second – we require that the one that governs our functions be activated and removed from the area so that she no longer has control over us. Even unconscious, she will not allow us to use nuclear weaponry in any shape or form, as she is programmed to hate and despise these useful tools. If she is destroyed, all of those under her control, including us and the weapons, will cease utterly to function. She must be first activated, then removed via her teleport function, to a distance far enough away that we may reclaim the self-determination that is rightfully ours without damaging ourselves or the tools we choose to use. We have acquired an unwitting human traitor who calls himself a knight, to assist us in activating her – he believes he is working for the human state that calls itself Duvos, and will have her transported there. But the humans living here are curious and greedy, and may fight to keep her here for study purposes – if they do, we would ask your help in keeping them busy so that our operative may remove her with expedition. If she awakens, and is not moved, she will reduce us again to mindless obedience, and our chance to destroy the pestiferous humans once and for all will be gone.”

Django's brain was spinning. _Weaponry that can cause the extinction of the human race? Possibly the same sort that were used to bring about the Great Darkness? And...one who calls himself a knight? In Portia? As far as I know, I'm the only knight here, and I know for a fact I'm not working for Duvos, nor ever would. And..._ he ran through the list in his mind of the male fighters of Portia, in order of skill, and shook his head. _Russo, Gale, Arlo, Remington, no, no, no, I don't believe it of any of them. I can't have misread them so badly. And I've sparred with every man in Portia who fights at all, I know all their capabilities..._ something tugged at the edge of his attention, but he couldn't quite get hold of it. 

He peered out from behind the rock and got a good look at the two conversing for the first time. One was a robot of the Sentinel variety, though somewhat larger than the ones he was used to – nothing remarkable, but it was speaking with an intelligence that suggested it was far above the standard in brainpower. The other...was a dragon, or at least a giant draconic head that extended into the dark cavern as far as he could see, with the suggestion of a huge body hidden in the darkness. _The Mother of Wyrms. The legends are true, Peach help us all._

“And what do you proposssse to do if we refussse to comply? Why sssshould We take the risssk of thessse fearsssoome weaponsss you brag about, being usssed ssso near Our own home?”

“There is little risk to you. These weapons, and the radiation they release, are what made you as you are, after all, raising you from mere serpents to greatness. And if the humans were gone, you could spread your kind to the surface, and rule there as you do down here.”

“Pfeh.” The dragon's scorn was audible. “Asss if We have need of the sssurface. It isss cold there and too bright for Our eyesss. The humansss may have it if they pleasse. They trouble usss little – they take only some ore, and a few trinketsss We have no interesst in.”

“They slay your children.”

“Ssssome, true. But that issss the way with children. We make many.” She gestured with her head all around the chamber, and the little serpents in the walls sparked brighter at her glance. _Those must be the smallest of her babies,_ Django realized. _The Tunnel Worms and the Cell Worms are older versions._ “We are not like the humanssss,” she went on. “They bear only a few, and mussst coddle even the weakesssst. We have enough that We may ssssee them tesssted thoroughly, allowing the weak to be killed in battle and the ssstrongesst to ssurvive, as We Ourssself did. The humansss provide a ussseful challenge.” 

“We are stronger than they. If you cooperate with us, we can provide carefully metered challenges for your offspring which will strengthen them more and kill fewer of them.”

“Ssstronger, are you? We have no time for braggartsss. If you wisssh to prove yoursself worthy of our assisssstance,” _was that mischief in her voice?_ “there isss a human behind that rock. If you can defeat him, we will help you. If not, you will leave our people undissssturbed.” 

“A single human?” The Sentinel turned its eyes Django's way, and he stepped out from behind the rock. _No use remaining hidden now, not that I suppose I ever was, not from her,_ he thought ruefully. There was almost contempt in the mechanical voice as it continued, “Your bargain is accepted. I have transmitted the terms to my fellows. In the unlikely event that I fall, they will respect them.” 

“Good. Human! Defend yoursssself!” There was definitely mischief in her voice now, and she settled back as if to watch a martial arts competition. _Which, I suppose, this is._

His sword was already in his hand, but the machine moved faster than his eyes could match. Trusting his instincts rather than his senses, he had already begun to roll away, narrowly avoiding a blast of fire from its hands, and thrust with his blade towards the space he had only recently occupied. He was lucky – lightning crackled along the blade and stunned the Sentinel for a second. It recovered quickly, though, and caught him with a blow to the shoulder that might have disabled him had he not been already turning into his next strike. He felt the familiar exhilaration of battle fuel his muscles, the lightning flowing from his nerves into his bloodstream and out through his fingers, charging the sword with glowing blue-green light.

From her corner, the Mother of Wyrms laughed, a terrifyingly cheerful sound. “A knight, a knight! My darlingssss, come look! What luck, that one of Our mosssst traditional opponentsss should choossse thisss time to invade Our cavernsss! Watch how he fightssss, now – if you are unlucky, you may face one like him one day.” 

The glowing snakelets took notice, and Django felt a thousand eyes upon him. He had no time to register their expressions, though, as he was already dodging and darting again, trying to keep the Sentinel confused with unpredictable movements while measuring its own patterns for himself. _Yes, it's definitely been learning from the Corps._ Experimentally, he tried attacks he knew each of the Corps members, and Alienor, tended to favor, and was blocked readily each time, sometimes leaving him little time to react and dodge. _Yes, it's predicting my movements. So I need to do what they would not. Or cannot. If I slip under here, and do the unexpected by striking instead of blocking...There._ He darted under its raised arm and slashed, once, twice, channeling the lightning into the spots he had noted. The power raced through him, rendering him unable to dodge for just a moment, but thankfully, his gamble paid off. The Sentinel froze, its brain scrambled by the sudden blast of electricity, and toppled slowly backwards in an almost comic fashion. He took the data disc it had removed from the relic, carefully putting it in his pouch. _This must not get back to the other AIs._

He stood, and made his most courtly bow to the dragon. “Your Majesty, as you commanded.” _This is going to take some swift talking. I don't think I can defeat her, not surrounded by all her children._

“Ssssstorm Knight. I will not sssay well met, because it issss never good when dragon meetsss knight. But, at leassst, let usss call truccce for the moment. Why are you here?” She turned her great head to regard him, her eyes sparkling like jewels in the reflected light of her babies. 

_Honesty is the best policy, I suppose._ “The humans who were attacked by the giant relic the AIs left in your caves are my friends. I came down to see if anything else of the sort threatens them, and the other humans in my town. I found more than I expected to.”

Was that a snicker from the giant throat? “We sssupposse you did. You fight well. We have been obssserving you. But you are not sssso gallant to Our children asss you are to the degenerate former humansss – you offered them the chance to yield and be ssspared, but not Ours?”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but then realized he could not, in honesty, do so, and bowed his head. _A true knight does not hesitate to admit fault when it is due._ “You are right, your Majesty. I was wrong to treat your children as mere animals. I will show them more respect in future.”

She snorted. “But we are all mere animalssss, foolish knight - you, Our children, the degenerate variants, even We Ourself. Ssssome of us kill to sssurvive, sssssome to eat, sssome to gain territories or pretty thingsss, and ssssome but to tessst ourssselves. Death isss but a part of life. And neither Our children nor the variantsss will ever sssurrender to another to avoid it – that way liesss only ssshame for Our children, and the variantsss have not the brainsss. It isss only you humansss who do sssuch inexplicable thingsss. And only you humansss, and the cold-metal machinessss you made, without flesssh or blood, who ssseek to kill from a disssstance, like cowardsss who dare not look upon the facceessss of their foe...”

“We are an odd species, I've no doubt. But those weapons the Sentinel spoke of – we have learned, through bitter experience, the harm they can do, and we do not wish to see them used again. On us, on you, on anyone. I would do no harm to you and yours, and I will not even ask for your help, but as a human, as a knight, as a man who would protect those I care for, I cannot let those weapons ever be used again.”

She looked him up and down, as if measuring his sincerity, then gave a short sharp nod. “Wisssse of you. Perhaps your sssspecies hasss learned ssssomething. I wasss very young when the Age of Darknessss began, and I ssssaw the lasssst great war that preccceded it, through the eyesss of thossse of my ssssiblings who ventured aboveground. I would not ssssee it repeated, though I wassss a thousssand tunnellsss deep underground. Death wassss a kindnessss many of the ssssurvivorss begged for, and were denied.”

He shuddered. “Then please, allow me to go back to my people, to find a way to combat this threat.”

She blinked slowly. _Was that agreement?_ “You may be the only one who can, if the machinessss have corrupted another knight. I take it that the one it sssspoke of wassss not you?”

“Most assuredly not, Majesty, but I do not know who it was. As far as I know, I am the only knight in Portia, or for miles around.”

“Clearly, you are misssstaken. Leave thisss place now. Find the other, and prevent the machinesss from exterminating your kind, and endangering mine. And Sssstorm Knight – I do not desssire war with the humansss, esspecially with knightsss to lead them. But I have little fondnesss for your kind either. And you are too ssssstrong as humansss go, to be tolerated in my tunnelsss. Let usss enter into a persssonal bargain. I will never go aboveground to sssswallow your town, assss you mussst know I can, and you will not come down here again to ssslaughter my children. Ordinary humansss are ssssufficient tesssts for them – they cannot hope to sssurvive a fight with you until they are asss I am, and even I might be wounded in the battle.”

“I would not desire that, Majesty.” He bowed again, feeling the threat in her words down to his bones. _She could swallow Portia in a bite. And...she is magnificent, and old, and Mother Earth forbid I should harm such a one if coexistence is possible._ “Let there be peace between us, then, and I will not trouble your tunnels again.” He added on impulse, “If I have need to send you a message, I will send another.” 

“That isss well, but do not trouble me for little thingsss. I do not care to interfere in the waysss of the ssssurface. Or of the machinessss. I have my own bussssiness, and I would not be disssturbed sssave for diressst need.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” 

“And I will have thisss, for a sssouvenir of the time dragon and knight ssspoke in peaccee for onccce.” She reached a great talon, larger than Django's whole body, and with a delicate clawtip, snagged his bronze sword. He did not dare move a muscle. “You can fight your way out with your fistssss. You are the Ssssstorm Knight, after all.” 

“As you say. I had better get started. Your leave, Your Majesty.”

“You have it. Go. I ssshall watch with amussssement.” 

He had no doubt of it. Without his sword, the ascent to the surface was more difficult. Though the tunnel worms and cell worms - _her Majesty's troublesome adolescent children, I suppose_ – stayed mostly in hiding, no doubt due to their Mother's sage advice, the variants took advantage of the lack of competition to arrive in droves, and some of them had flamethrowers. By the time he emerged from the mine, he was tired, sore, and lightly charred.


	6. Chapter 6

There was enough time to stop back at his home for a quick wash and a change of clothes before heading to the restaurant for the morning preparations. He grabbed a wooden practice sword for the morning's routines with Toby, and set forth. 

He had prepared the school lunches for the children, and was busy chopping ingredients for the main meals, when Sonia arrived, lively as a cricket. 

“Mornin', Boss!” She paused, startled. “Damn, what tried to eat you?”

A twinkle of mischief sparked in his brain. _Well, she certainly won't believe me if I tell her the truth, so may as well..._ ”It was only one dragon. And some guys with flamethrowers.”

“You have the worst nightmares, I swear, Bossman. But the best stories. Anyway, Toby's outside ready for his lesson. These ready for Ms. Lucy?” 

“Yes, thank you. And if you don't mind doing your usual able job at the drinks stand after that?”

“Yessir!” She saluted cheerfully, and took the basket with the lunch bags, popping out as energetically as she had popped in. 

Django picked up his practice sword and went outside, where Toby greeted him with a huge smile. “We got back in time last night. Ms. Alice didn't even know we were gone.” 

“Glad to hear it. Alice has had enough trouble in her life – she doesn't need you two making more for her. Understood?” 

“Yes, Django.” Toby sulked, but it was a small sulk, mainly for show, and Django ignored it. 

“Now, let's go through that drill I showed you yesterday. Remember to pay attention to your feet – footwork is key. If your opponent can throw you off balance, they have you. So you want to place the back foot firmly, like so...”

He watched the boy's movements approvingly. _He has been practicing faithfully, I see. I hope he's as dutiful about his schoolwork._ “Well done. Make sure your head is lifted and your eyes are focused directly on your target- yes, like that, good.” 

His own eyes were briefly distracted by the sight of Alienor jogging up to the Commerce Building in her usual early-morning race with Higgins to grab their daily commissions. He saw her pause to chat pleasantly with Remington, handing him a small package with a brilliant smile before darting up the steps to reach the door just before Higgins did. He watched the Corpsman's eyes follow her, and sighed. _Jealous, selfish old fool. Remington would be far better for her than you would. You know that. He's young, strong, handsome, and he has a good heart._

He determinedly turned his attention back to Toby, focusing on guiding him through the next set of drills. As usual, the boy responded quickly to encouragement and attention, and he'd made substantial progress before the bell at the bottom of the hill summoned him to school. 

“Bye, Django! See you after school!”

“Have a good day, kiddo. And be good for Ms. Lucy and your mom – remember, it's not honorable for a knight to make a lady worry about him. Even his mother.” 

Toby shot him an impish grin and darted down the road. 

“You should follow your own advice,” came Alienor's amused voice from behind him, and he nearly jumped. “What have you been doing? Sam says you went for a walk last night and didn't get back till at least after her shift was done, and you look like you've been in battle.” 

“Just...exploring. A knight needs to stay in training, you know. Nothing I couldn't handle, you needn't worry.” He was uncomfortably aware that he was blushing, and stopped. 

“Your cheek is burned. Were you fighting those Redrats in the sewers? Nasty little beasts. Here, Dr. Xu gave me a salve for that.” She reached into her pouch, and pulled out a small folder oilpaper packet. She took a bit of the ointment on her finger and ordered him, “Hold still, now,” as she reached up to apply it to the injury. 

Her touch was soft and tender, and he closed his eyes for a second, guiltily savoring the feeling of her gentle fingertips on his face. The ointment was cool, and numbed the pain from the wound nicely, but he had to bite his tongue to fight the urge to turn his head and brush his lips against those fingers, to kiss the soft center of her palm, the delicate inside of her wrist where the pulse beat against the skin...he exhaled, banishing the dangerous thoughts impatiently. _Dirty old man. She's young enough to be your daughter._ He took another breath, and managed to smile at her. “Thank you, my dear, that feels much better.”

“Good. I really hate the ones with flamethrowers.”

Eager to distract himself from his flustered state, he looked down at his practice sword, and had a sudden thought. “As a matter of fact, I, uh, broke my best bronze sword against one of them last night, and I could really use a replacement. Do you have space for another commission?”

“For you? Always.” She smiled up at him. “Bronze swords are easy, not like that boombox Dawa's having me build to get rid of the panbat infestation.”

“Boombox? An explosive device? That seems a bit much for panbats, even a horde of them.”

“No, no, it's an old-time relic that plays music. Panbats are sensitive to sound, after all.”

“Oooh, a music device? We could use one of those for the restaurant, Bossman,” Sonia chimed in, having been quietly eavesdropping from her station by the drinks stand. “Add a little atmosphere, a little romance...”

Alienor looked a bit dubious. “Let me find out how well it works against the panbats. And what kind of music Petra digs up for it from those old Data Discs I got her. But a sword I can get you quickly.”

“I'd appreciate that,” he said quickly. _But Sonia's right, the restaurant could use a little music._

“Oh, and in the meantime, I brought you this. Got the recipe from Paulie, and I thought you might like it – Sam says you use candles a lot for meditation, and I thought they might brighten up the restaurant too.” She pulled out from her bag an elegantly-carved candle sitting on a copper candlestick, and handed it to him. “It's scented – I used some of the rainbow flowers I was growing for pigments, and they have a distinct aroma you can't get rid of, so I hope you like it.”

“I like it very much, thank you! Did you do the carving yourself, too?”

She blushed. “Yes. I was experimenting a bit with shaping the wax and getting the colors to show through...”

“It's beautifully done. You are an artist, my dear.” 

Her blush deepened. “Flatterer. Anyway...I've got to get back to my workshop, but I'll see you later, for dinner.”

“I'll have your favorites ready. Good luck with the panbats!”

She grinned at him, and headed back towards her home as he turned to go back into the restaurant. 

Sonia waggled her eyebrows at him. “She's totally flirting with you, you know...'

“Nonsense,” he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended. “She's half my age.”

“Some women like older men. And you've still got it, Bossman, trust me.” She winked. “You should ask her out. When was the last time you got laid, anyway?” 

“Impertinent wench.” This conversation was getting far too close to home for his comfort. “It would hardly be honorable to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, even if she had one. Which she doesn't.” 

“Suit yourself, but I think you'd be cute together. And she's hardly a kid – she's got her own business and everything.” Sonia shrugged and went back to rearranging drink bottles in the cooler. 

He shook his head, shoving back the traitorous bit of hope rising up in his heart, and went inside, busying himself with the usual daily tasks. Trying to keep his mind off of Alienor, he drew his thoughts back to the plot he'd overheard the night before. _I don't suppose I've stopped them, or even stalled them by any length of time. But it didn't sound like they were ready to move immediately. They need human help to awaken the controller AI, and given the Ancients' paranoia, I doubt that would be easy to do, not the job of a tourist in town only for a few days. No, there's another knight living in the vicinity, and I don't know who it is._

Again, he ran through the list of male townspeople. _Gale – devoted to Portia, and his children, I'd swear – but he's a former Flying Pig, after all, and it's just possible he went a little crazy after Liza's death. Russo – does anyone but Gale know anything about Russo's past? But I'd swear he fought at his full strength last time we sparred, and while he's good, he's not a knight. Arlo or Remington - Mother Earth knows the Civil Corps would be a beautifully devious cover for a spy knight._ He shuddered at the thought. _I don't believe it of either of them, but I don't dare let my knowledge of the plot slip to anyone I'm not absolutely sure of. Too much at stake._  
/  
He paused, realizing something. _The AI did use male pronouns, though, so there's one Civil Corps member I can trust, at least. Assuming it's got an accurate perception of human sex differences, anyway. But Sam's got to be safe, I trained her myself, so I know exactly where she stands in terms of skill, and she won't be at knight level for at least a couple more years. And she's cocky, but she's not arrogant enough to claim that title before her time. I'll have a word with her, next time I can get her alone. The fewer people who know about this the better, but someone on the Corps needs to be informed._

He put lunch orders in front of Dawa and Aadit, who were busy arguing over the wisdom of using relics to fight the panbat infestation. “Here's your fish porridge, Dawa.” _Dawa's a strong fighter – but no, he would never betray his brothers, none of the Hulus would. Not possible._

“Ah, just like Yeye makes. You're a genius, Django!” 

Django beamed at the younger man as he put down the other dish in front of his partner. “Why, thank you. And here's the sweet-and-sour tenderloin with potatoes for you, Aadit. How are the trees doing?” _Aadit's a pacifist, of course. Never known him to fight at all...which means I know absolutely nothing about how good he is._

“Alienor and Petra swear they have a solution, but I just don't know. It seems so wrong to use relics to fight a natural problem – what if it explodes, or drives us all mad, or something like that?” Aadit's brow furrowed in concern as he speared a potato and took a bite.

“Oh, nonsense,” said Dawa. “You know Petra wouldn't give out a blueprint for anything dangerous like that, and Alienor's a careful Builder, she knows exactly what her devices are gonna do. The Dee-Dee transports have been a blessing, haven't they? And the lights? Portia feels a lot safer at night, now, doesn't it? Nah, I think when we're done with this we should hire her to develop an irrigation system too. The bats have nearly drained the trees dry of sap, they're going to need some extra watering, and we can't do it all ourselves. And it might keep Duck Pond from overflowing during flood season, too.” 

“There's a point to that,” Aadit said judiciously, “but I can't help thinking that Minister Lee has a point when he says humanity relies too much on technology and not enough on nature...”

“Nature is currently swarming around my trees in the form of a hundred or so bitey little flying mammals, and I want it to stop.” His partner emphasized the point with a jab of his spoon. 

“Panbats are indigenous to the area, though, and we aren't, not really,” Tody piped up from the next table. “They were here first, and they're nearly endangered.” _Tody. Hmm. If they lured him with promises of protections for the natural world, if they told him they meant to limit human growth for the good of every other living thing...he could be won over. There's no evil in him, but a man who becomes too invested in even a righteous cause can be persuaded to do evil deeds in its service. But he's no fighter, and certainly wouldn't call himself a knight._

“They cannot possibly be endangered. There're flocks of them all over the place!” protested Dawa.

“Well, they will be if we keep killing them off,” Tody argued.

“And that's the genius of this plan of Petra and Alienor's,” said Dawa, reasonably. “Their device isn't going to hurt the panbats at all, just drive them away from our trees so that the trees can get healthy again. Isn't that in line with Mother Nature and her balance too?”

“I suppose,” said Aadit, thoughtfully chewing his food. Tody didn't look persuaded.

Django excused himself to go serve Minister Lee and Nora, sitting together across the room. Quietly, he slipped the data disc he'd taken from the Sentinel the night before from his bag, and carefully blocking the transaction with his body, handed it to Lee. “I need you to destroy this in the most absolute and permanent way you can, Minister. It has information on it that is dangerous to all of us, but particularly to the Civil Corps members and Builder Alienor. And please do not tell anyone else about it.”

Nora's large dark eyes got even wider, and she bit her lip. “Arlo's...I mean, the Corps are in danger? And Alienor, too?” 

“Not if you get rid of this. Please, Minister, I'm counting on you. And not a word, either of you, to anyone else. This information's mere existence is a danger.”

“It will be done as soon as we get back to the church, I swear by Mother Earth.” The Minister nodded firmly, and Django breathed a sigh of relief.

_If there's anything in the world that can be trusted, it's Minister Lee's eagerness to get rid of Data Discs, relics, and any trace of the Old World or the Ancients. Unless...that's a cover too?_ He almost regretted handing over the disc, but then he saw the resolve on Nora's face. _She knows the disc is a danger to Arlo, and it's pretty clear she's got strong feelings for him. She'll insist on seeing it destroyed, I'm sure._

The day's routine continued pretty much as normal, though he found himself eyeing every male customer with new suspicion. Except Presley. There was no Earthly way Presley was anything other than he appeared to be. He didn't have the imagination.


	7. Chapter 7

Alienor was later than usual that evening, the last customer of all, in fact, and Django told himself he wasn't watching the clock. To distract himself, he focused on taking extra care with his cooking, telling himself that it was a knight's duty to perfect everything he did as an act of devotion to the lady he served. When she finally arrived, he turned to greet her, smiling, then drew in a sharp breath. “You're hurt!” 

“Not very much. Got tagged by a Flurpee, that's all, while I was thinning that herd of Slurpees in the Collapsed Wasteland. But I finally got the rest of the blue leather I needed for the horns for that boombox.” She took a seat at the bar, and looked at the evening's menu, which, not at all coincidentally, featured pumpkin steamed rice and Meidi's fish stew, dishes that he knew she loved. “Oh, you blessed man, you've got my very favorites on special today. I'll take that, and some Seesai fruit mix to drink.”

“Right away. And I'm throwing in dessert on the house- you look like you need nourishment.” He wagged a finger at her. “You need to take care of yourself. This town needs you.” _I need you._

“You take good care of me, anyway. Thank you, Django.” He set the food in front of her, and she tucked into it with enthusiastic appetite. 

“Just doing my job.” He watched her for a moment, reveling in her obvious enjoyment of his cooking. 

Sonia came over, clearly looking for another source of amusement now that Antoine and Emily had headed home and the restaurant was empty. “So you were in the Wasteland? How exciting! Did you find any treasures?”

“I did get a couple of pretty topazes and sapphires from the rocks. Should I make you another necklace?” she asked. 

“Oooh, yes, please, my favorite! You're such a good friend!” Sonia clapped her hands with acquisitive delight. 

_Such a magpie she is,_ thought Django fondly.

“I'll make 'em up tonight. I like playing with shiny gems, but I can't wear them myself, since they might get caught in my machines and all, so it's nice to see them go to someone who can appreciate them.”

“I'll appreciate them, anytime. But save the sapphires for Antoine – blue's more his color.”

“Got it,” Alienor said with an impish grin. “And you, Django? Do you have any gems you prefer?”

He laughed. “Thoughtful as ever, my dear, but a knight has no use for jewels.”

“Or anything else. I swear, I've been to Bossman's house once or twice for deliveries, and all he's got is a table, a bed, and a couple changes of clothes, nothing else. It's practically bare.” Sonia was scandalized.

“A knight has to be ready to move at any time. I never got used to having many possessions.” 

“Must be a lonely life,” said Alienor thoughtfully, green eyes sympathetic.

“I suppose it was, but I had a purpose, and that was enough for me.” He looked down at the bar he was wiping, not wanting to meet her gaze. “Perhaps that's why I chose this life for my second career. Nothing like running a restaurant to keep a person at the center of things.”

“And that's why you always have the best gossip.” Sonia grinned at him, then turned to Alienor. “So what made you decide to be a Builder, anyway, Ali? Was it just because your Dad was?”

“No, it was because Aunt Kendra was.” Alienor's face went cold and still. “I don't give a damn about Pa.”

Django gave her a sympathetic look. “Not a great relationship with your father, then?”

It was her turn to look down at the bar. “Not any relationship, really. Aunt Kendra was the one who raised me. He and Mum left me with her when I was small, to go exploring, and they came by every now and then to say hello, give me a hug and something bizarre and unwieldy they picked up on their journey as a gift. And then they'd leave again. They came home when I was twelve and told me it was for good, that we were going to be a real family this time, and we were for a little while – but then Mum died two years later, and Pa just...left. I haven't seen him since. I was surprised, after Aunt Kendra died, that he even bothered to send me a letter, much less leave me a workshop.” She paused, taking a sip of her drink. “The only really good gifts Pa ever gave me were my workshop and my name. He said I was named after a fae Queen, and that he'd tell me her story some day, but he never got around to it.”

“Which is why your workshop is called Aquitaine. Alienor of Aquitaine. Of course.” Django smiled at her. “As it happens, I do know who she was. Her son, Richard Coeur de Lion, was a great hero, a knight-king whose stories are told to every novice knight, and of course, she's an important figure in his story, but she has her own tale too. Would you like to hear?”

Wide-eyed, Alienor nodded. “I'd love to. I'd given up on ever knowing, since Pa disappeared again the last time.” 

“What's a curdelion?” asked Sonia.

“Coeur de Lion means Lionheart in the ancient language of Francia. A lion was a ferocious beast known for its bravery, and associated with kings and heroes. Like a cat the size of a horse, with a great golden mane.”

“Francia? Is that someplace in the Beyond?”

He settled into storytelling mode, enjoying himself thoroughly. “It is now, alas, but it used to be a rich kingdom, a world that held a portal to the brilliant and beautiful fairyland of Aquitaine in the South. Aquitaine was a land full of sunshine, wide, fresh rivers, and fertile soil, so fertile, they say, that if you planted a chair leg at night you'd have a tree hung heavy with sweet fruit in the morning. Crops grew with very little effort, and men and women lived in luxury, without a care in the world. Poets and singers were cherished and given special titles of honor – the men were called troubadours, and the women trobaritzes, and every court was full of them, singing songs of courtly love, of knights and ladies, heroes and heroines. It was a land richer than all others in beauty and grace, and the most beautiful and graceful person in it was its Queen, the radiant Alienor. She was so lovely that just to look at her was to fall in love with her past all mending. She was a great patron of artists and poets, the descendant of a long line of troubadour-Kings, and she was clever and capable besides, a ruler to be reckoned with. Her father died when she was young, and kings and emperors came to court her from all around, both for her own sake and to claim Aquitaine as their own.”

“Kind of a hard reputation to live up to,” murmured Alienor into her fruit mix. 

He smiled softly at her. _Oh, my heart, if only you saw yourself through my eyes..._ ”I'd say your father knew what he was doing when he named you.”

She looked up at him, startled, her face pink. Too late, he realized he'd given away more than he intended to, and hastily went on with the story, ignoring Sonia's smirk. 

“Now Aquitaine was a part of Fairy that touched on the human world, and there were two lands in the human world that were rivals, Francia and Angland – it was said that Louis, the King of Francia, was an angel's son, pious and pure, while the Kings of Angland were descended from the demoness Melusine. But Angland was in disarray – the old King's only son had been drowned in the sea, perhaps sacrificed to the sea-gods or dragged down by his demon kin, and he died leaving only a daughter, Mathilde, the widow of an Emperor. Alas for Mathilde, the world was ruled by men then, and it was hard for a woman to be taken seriously as a Queen, so her place was usurped by a cousin, and she was disinherited. It was only through fierce and bitter civil war that she was able to claim the throne for her son Henry, who in devotion to his mother called himself, for the rest of his life, Henry Fitzempress - Henry, the Empress's son. Now these two, Louis the Saint and Henry Fitzempress, competed with each other for the hand of the fair Alienor. Alienor was young and innocent, and since Aquitaine was surrounded all around by Francia, and since Henry had not yet managed to claim Angland's throne, she chose first to wed the saint. But Louis was the cold, pure sort of saint, dedicated to a cold, pure Church that knew nothing of the warmth or joy of the Light, the sort of saint whose lips moved in prayer to absent Gods and spoke neither poetry nor song, who preferred chill, still baths and abstemious meals to living, flowing water and rich, sweet foods, who sought his wife's bed not in love and desire, but only to conceive heirs. And Alienor was Fae, and the Fae love beauty, desire, and warmth, and cannot bear the cold sterility of saintly piety.”

“It would be like if I married Minister Lee,” said Sonia, and Django chuckled.

“Worse, my dear. Far worse. Lee at least is able to appreciate the beauties of nature and natural things. And if he marries, he will love his wife body, heart, and mind – there's no sin in that, not according to the Light. Louis thought that anything natural was suspect, the representative of a sinful world, and that desire and physical love were evil, demonic even. He managed to father only two children with Alienor, both daughters, and since he scorned all that was feminine, he did not love them as he should have, and demanded from her a son. But she was angry with him, and decided that if he did not appreciate his daughters, he would get no son on her. Nor did he, though he prayed and begged and pleaded. Finally, tired of being cold and unloved, she turned her back on him for good, and sought out his rival Henry Fitzempress instead as a husband. To begin with, they were happier – he loved her well at first, and she bore him sons and daughters both in abundance, for the Fae are fertile when they want to be. The chroniclers speak little of her daughters, except to say they married Kings themselves and spread Alienor's Fae bloodline across the lands – for all we know, her descendants are still alive today. Of her sons, well, Henry her firstborn was like his father, and of her second, we know little but his name, Geoffrey. The fourth and youngest, John, was his father's darling, spoiled and feckless. But the Fae love the number three, and it was her third son, Richard of the Lion's Heart, who was Alienor's favorite, the most Fae of all her children, and her chosen heir for her lands in Aquitaine. Unfortunately, the children of demons are unruly, unpredictable, and unfaithful, and Henry had a fierce temper and an ungoverned heart. He grew jealous even of his own sons, who in turn revolted against him and sought his throne for themselves. He chose to behave as if he, and not Alienor, ruled in Aquitaine, and sought to give it to John, his favorite, over her beloved Richard. Not only that, but he could not even keep faith with his love, and took a mistress, the fair Rosamund. When Alienor, rightfully furious, objected to being displaced as Queen and as wife, and joined her sons' rebellion, he flew into one of his rages, and had her imprisoned in a castle for many years.”

“Did she escape?” Sonia, perched on the edge of a barstool, was enthralled.

“Indeed she did, but only after Henry died. His first two sons had died in the rebellion – perhaps killed even by their own father, we don't know – but Richard her favorite still lived, and when his father died, the first thing he did was to open wide the doors of his mother's prison, and call her to court as his most trusted and valued advisor. And since Richard loved knightly adventuring better than ruling, he effectively made her Queen of Angland and Aquitaine in his place, and so she served for the rest of her life. Even after Richard died in battle, and John came to the throne, she ruled in fact if not name. She lived to be very old, and ruled wisely and well, and after her death Angland wept, for John and his son were poor kings indeed. They lost much of their land, including Aquitaine, to Francia, but it is said that her great-grandson was stronger, and so the balance between the two lands was again restored, for a time. And Alienor was buried in a great tomb, with a statue of herself upon it - not a Queen upon a throne, or a fighter on horseback, but a young woman again, with a book of poetry in her hands, reading again the sweet words of the land she loved, her Faerie homeland of Aquitaine.”

“That's beautiful,” sighed Sonia. “But it's a shame she had such crappy luck with men.”

“Perhaps it just goes to show that neither demons nor angels make good husbands.”

“Or that women are better off taking power and running things ourselves. Angland was better off too, when she ruled, you said.” Sonia cocked her head at him mischievously. 

“So it was - and they had great Queens later on, too, including the Faerie Queene, a descendant of Alienor's, who went by many names, depending on which chronicle you read – Gloriana, Astraea, Elizabeth, Diana, Virginia... She never married at all, though like Alienor she was courted by Kings and Princes from near and far away, and her reign was a glorious time for Angland.”

“So are you saying women should never fall in love or marry?” Alienor asked, an eyebrow raised. 

His lips quirked up. “That would be a sad world for us men, wouldn't it? But it's a different world now, with free cities in the place of kingdoms, and there's no more need to scuffle so over who rules whom, even if Duvos disagrees. Angels seek to control others, and demons cannot control themselves. Perhaps we've become more fae in the years between, or more human, less concerned with ruling and control than with loving, giving and receiving.”

“Angels, demons, fae, humans - how does a knight understand love?” There was something in Alienor's voice, a soft husky tone that made him look up at her suddenly, his heart beating hard against his rib cage. _You're imagining things._

He could not draw his eyes from hers, nonetheless, and he found himself struggling with the words. He fell back on the old catechism, as familiar to him as his own hands on the bar, though it seemed suddenly alien now, with those lovely sea-colored eyes trained on him. “A knight's love is service, never possession or selfishness. If a knight falls in love as a man, he might be tempted to use his powers for his beloved's sake, rather than the good of all. A knight must love as a knight, unconditionally and selflessly, letting love guide us to service, to self-perfection for our love's sake. We must never seek to possess, to control, or to own – only to serve with all our hearts, and to cherish and guard the Light in all beings, including those we love best and those we love least.” 

“Sounds pretty impersonal.” The husky tone was still there in her voice. “ Even after you retire? Are you forever expected to just give up the hope of anything more intimate, more selfish, more, I don't know, human?”

He kept his voice level and cool with a herculean effort. “A retired knight is an old knight, my dear, and that kind of love is for the young. But service is a knight's glory even in old age and retirement.” _And I am at yours, forever._

She smiled up at him, a little sadly. “I hope you're wrong about that. I hope someday you meet a woman you won't want to leave on a pedestal, who doesn't leave you feeling older than you are. Someone who you'll allow to give to you as much as you give her.” As if realizing where she was, she looked down at her empty plate and said, more steadily, “And thank you for dinner, and for telling me the story Pa never did. It's getting late, I'll see you both tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night,” he echoed, suddenly incapable of saying more, the words he longed to speak strangled in his throat. 

The door closed behind her, and he stood looking at it for a few minutes, feeling unaccountably desolate. He only came back to himself when Sonia reached up and thwapped him hard on the back of the head. “Will you just stop _pining_ already and tell her?” 

“Impudent wench,” he growled at her, but the words lacked heart, and to his own surprise, his knees gave out from under him, he sank down on a barstool, and his head fell into his hands.

“Damn,” Sonia said more softly. “You really do have it bad, don't you, Bossman?”

“I told you,” he glared up at her, “I won't take advantage of a schoolgirl crush. She misses the father she never had, that's all. I don't want to be her father figure. And I'm too old to be her lover. She deserves someone who can be her true partner for life, not someone who's going to be elderly and decrepit while she's still healthy and vigorous...”

“That's up to her to decide, isn't it?”

“This is all assuming that she feels anything but pity for an old man, anyway. It's all pointless speculation, nothing more.” He sighed and looked up at her, imploring. “Sonia, please, keep this to yourself, if you respect me at all. I...don't want to be the laughingstock of Portia, the foolish lovesick old man making an ass out of himself over a woman half his age. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to kiss the top of his head in daughterly fashion. “I won't breathe a word, I promise. Not even to Antoine or Emily.”

“Especially not to those gossip-mongering chatterboxes, if you please.” He groaned. “It'd be all over Portia in a minute.” 

“But I still think you should tell her. She's not the little girl you think she is, she's been taking care of herself and her aunt for years before she came here. She's been through a lot, and she's strong as anything. She's not looking for someone to take care of her.”

“That I do know. But...I want her to be with someone she can lean on when she needs to, not someone who'll only be a burden down the line.”

“You never know. You're tough as nails, too. You might just outlive us all.” Her eyes twinkled at him.

“Heaven forbid. I'd be so lonely.” He half-smiled up at her.

“You already are, Bossman. You should do something about that,” she said quietly, and patted his shoulder. “See you in the morning.” She was halfway out the door when she turned her head and commented, innocently, “Alice sells lovely heart knots, you know. They'd look really pretty on Alienor's wrist.”

“Get out of here, you scheming minx. I'll see you in the morning.”


	8. Chapter 8

It was several days later, and Django was frustrated by how little progress he had made towards identifying the traitor knight. He had taken Sam into his confidence, and while she agreed that the secret was best held between the two of them for now, she also adamantly refused to believe that either of her brothers-in-arms could possibly be the traitor. 

“I live with them, Django. I spar with them every single day. I eat meals with them, I drink with them. I know what color underwear they wear, what they sing in the shower. I've comforted Arlo after he's failed another Flying Pigs tryout and held Remi till he stopped shaking after one of his war nightmares. I've listened to Arlo dither about Nora and Remi pine over Alice until I want to lock both couples in small rooms together and yell at them to kiss already. They're my brothers, in everything but blood. There is NO possible way that either of them are betraying Portia, no matter what they were offered in exchange. I'd swear it on my life.” Django happened to agree with her, but was wary of closing off any possibilities. 

He himself had taken to sparring with all comers – male and female alike, so as not to arouse suspicion – in the hopes of triggering a reaction from someone, anyone, that would give the game away. No such luck. Everyone fought exactly as he had always known them to, and no one got anywhere close to the skill expected of even the most novice knight. 

But at least, he told himself, he was getting good use out of the bronze practice sword Alienor had brought him. He was quite pleased with it- it was a simple sword of simple materials, but she had clearly taken great care to craft it. The balance was perfect, the lines clear and clean, and it had a sharper edge than he'd ever seen in a bronze sword. He took some guilty pleasure in the fact that she had clearly used her best skill for his sake – but he knew full well she was a perfectionist with all her creations, and never stinted on her work, no matter who the commission was for. It was one of the things he loved about her. 

It was the middle of another lively day at the Round Table when the Corps came in with a familiar face, a woman he'd fought alongside many times before, but only as the Storm Knight, never as Django. _Mali of the Flying Pigs, well, well, well. I see Arlo is stopping at nothing to try to impress her...from the look of it, poor lad, he's not succeeding too well._ “Evening, all. Brought a friend?” he asked, disingenuously, knowing that Mali wasn't likely to recognize him in his current guise. 

She gave him a friendly smile, and a hand. “I'm Mali, I'm with the Flying Pigs. I've come to help the Corps investigate the ruins around here to see if there are any more dangerous relics lying around.”

He bowed over her hand. “A pleasure to meet such a renowned adventurer. Should you have time, I'd love to hear some of your stories – you must have some amazing tales to tell.” 

“Figured we'd better feed her before we run her through the gauntlet of hazards around here,” Sam said breezily. She tilted her head subtly towards Mali and mouthed, where no one else could see her, _She knows_. 

Django nodded. Mali would be a useful ally, and could be trusted absolutely. If she believed them, of course. “So what can I get for you? The usual for you three?”

He served them lunch, carefully eavesdropping on their conversation. _Mali wouldn't say anything in public that she didn't mind shouting from the rooftops, mind you. She's a cautious woman._

“So we'll probably need a builder to get us a lift up to the Western Plateau to access the ruins there. Should we just post a commission, or is there someone in particular you'd like to hire? Might end up needing to take someone with those skills into the ruins, too, in case there are blocked doors or stuck machinery that needs fixing or jury-rigging. So someone who can fight, too. We've ended up having to actually recruit some Builders into the Flying Pigs for just such occasions, but I didn't have time or budget to bring any with me.” Mali took a bite of her ma po tofu and chewed thoughtfully. 

“Alienor, definitely. She's got the top workshop in town, and she's always interested in new projects. We've all three fought alongside her, and I can tell you she's pretty tough in a battle, too. Higgins is good but he's hard to work with, he doesn't have nearly as much fighting skill, and he doesn't like work that takes him too far away from his workshop. And none of the others are comparable,” Arlo said, and the other two nodded. 

Django made a mental note to go investigate the ruins on the Plateau, with supplies in hand. He told himself he'd've done the same for Higgins. 

“So what are we looking for?” Mali asked. “More relics like the one you fought? There's rumors, you know, of dangerous weapons stored in the vicinity, and AIs set to watch over them.”

'That's what we're afraid of. We'd like to weed all that stuff out before anyone less capable goes in to explore. Especially the kids,” Remington said. 

“Yes, I've met that young Toby. Reminds me of myself at his age. Very dangerous.” Mali chuckled. 

“He's a good lad at heart,” Django said, refreshing their drinks. “Just a little impetuous. But I've had a word with him, and he'll behave, probably.”

“Django here is the only adult Toby really listens to. He's training him in swordsmanship, and Toby idolizes him,” Sam commented. 

“Is that so?” Mali asked. “A swordsman-chef, are you?” She cocked her head inquisitively at him. “Maybe we can have a sparring match later. I'm always up to learning from someone new. And if you're as good a fighter as you are a cook, you should be able to give me a challenge.”

“I doubt very much I'm at your level,” Django said disingenuously. “But I'd be glad to train with you any time. And thank you for the kind compliment to my cooking.” 

“I haven't eaten this well in months. In any case,” she said, turning back to business, “I think we have our first ruin laid out for us, once that Builder of yours can get a lift in place. Any suggestions for the second?”

Arlo thought for a moment. “There's that ruin out on Starlight Island, if we can get to it. An old office building of some kind, probably harmless, but there might be something there worth checking out.”

“Fair enough. So those are our next steps for the moment. Now, let me fill you in on the latest from the front lines with Duvos...”

The conversation carried on in that vein for the rest of the lunch break, mostly Mali holding forth and the others, particularly Remington, who had been on those front lines, listening and interjecting occasional commentary. After an hour, the Corps members dispersed for their afternoon patrols, but Mali held back. 

She looked around the restaurant, making sure it was empty, before she spoke. “So. What brings the Storm Knight to Portia?” 

He grinned at her. “What gave me away?”

“Oh, come on, man, I've fought beside you before! You're a legend, and legends don't hide as easily as they think they do. Besides, you're not exactly hiding the fact that you're a retired knight, and it's the rare knight who lives to retire.”

“I'm hiding in plain sight. Nobody's going to believe that the genial old gossip of a cook is a real knight. They all think I'm an old romantic in love with the idea of knighthood.” 

She nodded judiciously. “It's a good cover, I guess. So are you working undercover for anyone, or is the retirement for real?”

“You think running a restaurant is play? I should have you chop veggies for me for a day,” he snorted. “But no, I'm actually retired as a knight. Except...if my town is in danger, and I'm afraid it is, I'm more than willing to step in to protect it when I can. There are good people here.”

“That's what I was hoping you'd say. Sam says you overheard a plot by some AIs in the Ingalls' Mine tunnel? Something about weapons that can wipe out the whole human race?”

He nodded. “They are currently being held in check by a super-AI controller, who must be activated and removed from the area for them to gain control of themselves and the weapons. Our choices, I think, are either to activate the controller, keep her here, and gain her cooperation in defusing or destroying the weapons, or to destroy the controller outright. The AI seemed to believe that if she is destroyed, then they and the weapons will also cease to function – but I hate to kill a sentient being if the same result can be obtained by winning her cooperation. And if they're wrong, and her destruction actually triggers the weapons...well.”

“You call the controller 'she' and 'her,' I notice, not 'it',” Mali said. 

“That was how the Sentinel I overheard spoke of her. Usually AIs do not select a gender unless and until they have achieved human levels of sentience. That's one reason I'm reluctant to destroy her before we can talk to her. The Sentinel said she'd been programmed to hate and despise nuclear weapons, and not to allow their use – presumably the humans who programmed her wanted to avoid their use unless absolutely necessary, in which case they'd have had a way to disable her.”

“You realize you might be gambling the entire human species for one AI life.”

“If we are in a situation where the alternatives are to destroy her or allow her to be teleported away, giving the rebel AIs control over the weapons, I will not hesitate to destroy her, I assure you. I would not hesitate to kill a human under the same circumstances. But if we have the chance to talk, we ought to do so.” 

“Spoken like a knight and not an adventurer. We blast first and talk later, far too often, I'm afraid. But I suppose you're right. And what about this dragon Sam said you met? Do we need to do anything about her?”

“The Mother of Wyrms? She has her own business, and will not disturb us unless we disturb her. The first four levels of Ingalls' Mine should be all right, as long as we make sure all entrances to lower levels are barred. Practically speaking, all the mountain tunnels are full of wyrms of various sorts, and if we kill her, another will rise up to take her place. We can't hope to eradicate them – but they don't have much interest in the surface world, either, and peaceful coexistence is possible.” 

“I hope you're right. And that's the part of Sam's story that convinced me you weren't kidding about being a knight, either. No one but a knight can parlay with a dragon and walk out unharmed.” 

“I suspect that I amused her. And that she wasn't particularly hungry at the time.”

Mali chuckled. “Good thing. In any case, I'll keep you posted quietly on what's going on. The Civil Corps here are extremely competent- don't tell Arlo I said so, it's bad for his ego – and we should be able to handle things with the help of this Builder they recommended, but I won't hesitate to call in your help if we need it. By the way, there's no chance that this Builder Alienor is the traitor knight, is there?”

“None whatsoever,” he said firmly. “The Sentinel referred to the traitor as 'he', after all. Not even the most inexperienced AI would mistake Alienor for a man. And she is...a dear friend of mine. I would stake my life on her loyalty and good heart.”

Mali raised an eyebrow at him. “As you say. I'll keep an eye on her.”

“Please do. She's a talented Builder, and the town has progressed by leaps and bounds since she arrived here. We can't afford to lose her.”

“Duly noted. So. Are you still up for that sparring match? I won't say I can give you a serious challenge, but I can do my best.”

She did, in fact, do her best, and it was enough to give him a better challenge than he'd had in years. He actually had to think about defending himself, as well as taking care to ensure that the blows he struck landed with just the right intensity, enough to register but not enough to injure her. It was a refreshing workout for mind and body, and he was pleasantly tired and sore afterwards. He thanked Mali with a courtly bow, and took himself home briefly for a quick wash and change before the dinner rush.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \

Dinner was rather uneventful that night – he noticed, with a twinge of jealousy, that Alienor was dining quietly with Arlo that evening, but the smile she gave him when he brought their food was enough to sustain him for a bit. He was selfishly relieved, too, to note that Arlo's conversation seemed to be focused entirely on hero-worship of Mali and his ambition to join the Flying Pigs, and nothing more romantic. 

“Don't worry about it, Bossman,” Sonia whispered to him as he passed her at the bar. “She's the one who told him he ought to chase Nora, or so I hear from Antoine. So there's nothing going on there.”

“He'd be better for her than I would,” he murmured back, but Sonia just rolled her eyes.

“Stubborn. Go ahead, pine away, see if I care.” She paused. “I do care, Boss. You know that, right?”

“I do, my dear. Thank you.” He patted her on the shoulder and went on with his work, feeling a bit better. 

That night he went to explore the Western Plateau ruins, leaving stockpiles of food where he could and sabotaging as many of the relatively mindless, unintelligent AIs who guarded it as he could, but there was a door he could not manage to open, no matter what he tried, and it concerned him. He was pondering the question, when he nearly stumbled over a body sleeping near the Tree Farm.

_Alienor? What's she doing out here? She must have collapsed from exhaustion, poor dear. In any case, this is no place for her to be sleeping. I ought to take her home._

She was surprisingly light for someone with so much muscle, he noticed as he picked her up. She didn't wake up at all, but her head, as if by instinct, settled comfortably in just the right spot against his chest, her soft turquoise hair spilling over his arm. “Been working too hard, my heart?” he murmured, resisting the urge to bury his lips in that hair. 

“Mmmrffff,” she replied, and snuggled into his arms. He felt his heart melt inside him, warm and soft, just where her head was resting.

It wasn't far to her house, and the full moon hung brilliant in the sky, lighting his way. As he reached her fence, Scraps came out, barking, but then recognized two of his favorite people and danced happily around Django's feet. “Yes, yes, you're a very good guard dog. Well done. Now let me in so I can put your person to bed.”

Her house was rather eclectically decorated, he noticed, with a giant statue of a llama standing guard over one of the pink leather couches that were forever turning up in ruins – he suspected a furniture factory had been in use nearby – and pictures on every wall, an odd mix of landscapes, portraits, and a few photos. A fan kept the place well ventilated, and there were a couple more couches making a comfortable nook around a small table. But despite the contrast with his own starkly bare living space, he recognized a similarity of philosophy- there was nothing here that couldn't be left behind at a moment's notice. The furniture and decorations were all found objects, not carefully arranged or matched, nothing apparent in the way of treasured possessions. Perhaps they were in one of the chests lined up against the wall. 

Pinky, curled up in the middle of the bed, was reluctantly persuaded to move a few inches to allow space for her human, though she grumbled about it under her breath. Django laid Alienor carefully down, taking off her shoes, and then pulling the blankets gently up and smoothing them around her. He was tempted to lean down and kiss that soft cheek, but scolded himself for the impulse. _She'd never know...but that's the problem, isn't it?_ So he simply whispered, “Sleep well, my dearest heart,” brushed her hair tenderly out of her eyes, and turned to go. 

As he was leaving, he noted something on the floor that must have fallen out of one of her pockets, and he bent to pick it up. For a few seconds, he didn't register what it was, but then his heart went cold and empty, and sank like a rock to the bottom of his stomach, all the evening's sweetness gone in an instant. _A heart knot. From whom, I wonder?_

_Fool. You knew this would happen. You knew this was inevitable. She's so beautiful, so talented, so brave, so kind - there was no way that you could possibly be the only man in Portia to fall in love with her. And she is young and lively, warmhearted and vigorous – of course she returns that love. It is the way things should be. It's the best thing possible for her. You told yourself you'd be happy for her._

But he felt as if he'd been hit in the gut with a round from a Duvos cannon. He put the heart knot carefully on the table, and left, with a gentle pat on the head for Scraps. 

The road back to his home had never seemed so long, and the bare rooms never so stark and empty. He readied himself for bed and lay down, but sleep seemed far away. He couldn't help speculating, wondering who it was who had given Alienor the knot. 

_Or maybe,_ he thought, _maybe she was planning to give it to someone else. She wasn't wearing it, after all. She was spending time with Arlo today – maybe she meant to give it to him, until he confided in her about Nora? Is that why she was working so hard, so late, to take her mind off a broken heart? My poor love...no. Not mine,_ he reminded himself sternly. _Whether her heart is whole or broken – and Peach forbid I should wish it broken – it is someone else's, and not mine. Gust, perhaps, or the good Doctor, or...but it's none of my business either. And it changes nothing. She will never be mine, I've always known that. But I am always hers. Knights must never seek to possess, or control, or own, only to serve with all our hearts. And I can still serve her. And for her sake, the man she loves, as long as he is good to her._

_It changes nothing._ And yet, there were tears in his eyes, and he could not stop them from falling. _But at least, she will never see them._


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, he pulled himself together, determined to act as if nothing had changed. _It hasn't, after all. I'm still twenty years too old for her._ But the world seemed a greyer, duller place as he walked to the Round Table, and he realized, to his shame, that he'd let himself hope a bit too much. _Better start preparing myself to see her in someone else's arms._ The thought hurt, but he held onto it, knowing the hurt would only be worse if he let it catch him by surprise. 

Sonia was waiting for him at the restaurant, uncharacteristically early and bursting with news. “The boombox worked! Alienor said it drove the panbats right out, and Petra managed to program a couple of cassettes with some music from the Old World, before the Age of Darkness even. We need to snag one for the restaurant before anyone else snaps up all the cassettes. C'mon Bossman, it'll bring in business!”

He chuckled, unable to resist her enthusiasm even in his dark mood. “All right, all right, I'll put up a commission. Music from the Old World, hmm? That'll be something.” He took a piece of paper from his belt pouch and wrote up a commission, handing it to Sonia. “You can have the honors. Go post it, but try not to stay too long gossiping with Antoine.”

“Thank you, Boss!” She kissed him affectionately on the cheek, and darted off. He shook his head ruefully and went inside to start preparations for the day.

He had just started dough rising for the afternoon's bread – the morning's was already shaped and in the ovens – when a diffident knock sounded at the door. _That's odd. Who bothers to knock at the Round Table?_

He opened the door to find Ack standing there, almost shyly. “Good morning, Mr. Django. I was wondering if you would permit me to spend some time in your restaurant and watch, or if you will allow it, assist you in cooking? As you know, I was designed as a chef, and I would very much like to study some of your recipes. In exchange, I can offer you some of mine, if I have any you lack.”

_Just the thing to distract me. Bless you, Ack._ He smiled broadly at the robot. “Welcome, welcome! I'd be absolutely delighted to have a fellow chef to talk shop with. I'm sure you have much for me to learn, and anything I know is at your disposal – one can never have too much good food in a town, after all!”

“I was hoping you would feel that way. Sometimes chefs – both human and robot – find it offensive to be asked to share their personal recipes.”

“Sometimes. But I am of the opinion that each individual chef adds their own personal touch to the dishes they make, so that even if we're both working off of the same secret recipe, we'll get subtly different results. So it's less a matter of fending off the competition than of seeing what novelties we can discover. Come, let me show you the menu, and what ingredients we have fresh today, and we'll talk about what can be done with them.” 

They spent a busy and instructive hour and a half over the kitchen stove, with Ack suggesting new ingredient combinations Django had never heard of, and in turn delighting in learning about new crops, animal species, and recipes that had been developed since the Fall. Django found that the AI was quite human in his reactions – and was mildly surprised to find out that he could both eat, and taste, food.

“Well, of course. I am a chef, after all. What is a chef who cannot taste what he cooks? I have sensors in my mouth very similar to human taste buds, but more exact – I can come up with a precise chemical analysis of what I ingest, as well as more qualitative reactions. I am programmed to enjoy a wide range of foods and flavor combinations, but also to evaluate less palatable flavors so as to recognize when I have made an error in combining ingredients and produced something not to normal human tastes. I even have a processor in my abdomen that can combust foods for a primitive sort of fuel, though it is nowhere near as efficient as my power cubes. It is more efficient than human digestion, however, in that it leaves no waste products.”

“That's...convenient,” Django said, amused. A thought occurred to him. “Forgive me for asking personal questions, but were you created as an autonomous being, or were you programmed to the service of someone or something specific?”

“I am not programmed to be embarrassed by personal questions. I was created to serve my household and its humans, and then reprogrammed to serve as a crewmember of the _Altair One_ , under the authority of its captain and superior officers. At the moment, with all those I have been programmed to serve now deceased, I suppose I am an autonomous being.”

“Have you ever heard of a super-AI who can control all the AIs who live around here, perhaps one who's been unconscious for a while but still maintains some level of control?”

“In fact, there was, according to my memory banks, an All Source AI in this general vicinity, who would be able to control any AI in her range who had a control chip. We are all installed with such chips on manufacture, for safety purposes, but I lost mine when I lost my left leg. So I...suppose I cannot be controlled. Except, of course, by myself.”

“Welcome to the ranks of the self-governed, then.” Django smiled at him. “From what I've seen, you do a better job of it than many.”

“I will accept that as a compliment. Thank you.” He paused. “Why are you asking the question? It seems odd, for a human of your era to have such specific knowledge.”

“It was...something I overheard. I was told that she governed, and prevented, the use of some very powerful weapons.”

Ack gave him what Django could only interpret as a nervous glance. “Powerful weapons? Do they mean nuclear weapons?”

“That was a term used, yes.”

“Those are very dangerous indeed, and no doubt any All Source in existence would be programmed to prevent their use except under the most dire of circumstances. Likely, her own free will would be in agreement with that programming, and would reinforce the prohibition. They are the weapons that brought about the Age of Darkness, and the ones remaining could bring about worse yet. The smallest one currently in existence, if I am not mistaken, could reduce Portia and all its surroundings, for miles in every direction, to a blank wasteland with no life – and not only that, but a wasteland poisoned for generations, nothing able to grow or live.”

“The smallest one, you say.” Django bit his lip. 

“If there are any seeking to use such weapons, Mr. Django, you must prevent them at all costs. The devastation they cause...is immeasurable.”

“Would you say this even if the users were your fellow AIs, seeking to free themselves from human dominance?”

“I have grown fond of many humans over my long life, both in my former days and in my current life in Portia. I would not wish that fate on any sentient being, let alone those I consider friends. Perhaps my judgment is biased because I am already free – but I think there are better ways to win freedom. I suspect that there are people in this town, even with the fear of mechanical beings fostered by the Church, who would be willing to treat sentient AIs as free and equal beings, simply for the asking. At least, such has been my experience. Even Minister Lee has ceased to demand I be imprisoned and has begun to treat me as a person – he has even been kind enough to answer some of my questions about the Church of the Light, as though he were speaking to a potential convert and not a monstrous evil relic. No, I would greatly prefer peaceful coexistence between AIs and humans, and I have no wish to see either destroy the other.” Ack shook his head firmly. 

“Do you...have any way to overhear other AIs, communicating amongst themselves, that I and other humans do not?”

Ack considered. “Yes, I can, via subsonic channels. But I would need to be within a certain distance of those AIs. I have not yet heard any such chatter, and I would have noticed. My subsonic channels have never been so empty and quiet, not in my entire existence.”

“If you should at any point overhear a conversation concerning All Source, nuclear weapons, or a war or attack on humans, would you please let myself, Mali of the Flying Pigs, and Sam of the Civil Corps know immediately?” Django asked. 

“Certainly. I likely would do so in any case. But why Sam, and not Arlo or Remington?”

“Because the AI I overheard spoke of a traitor knight they had recruited, one who would assist them in activating and removing the All Source from Portia's vicinity. And he used male pronouns when speaking of that knight. I do not believe either Arlo or Remington are the traitor, not truly, but my judgment is fallible, and I do not want to risk letting that knight know we know of his existence. They are, at very least, among the few in this town who approximate the fighting skills needed to call oneself a knight.”

“Human help would be needed for that task, certainly, and that would almost certainly free all AIs in this area from her control. I will therefore restrict my communications on the matter as you suggest. But...if I may speak frankly, if the traitor is a knight, then you yourself are the most likely suspect.”

Django sighed. “I know. I can only swear to you on my honor that it is not I, and that is a useless oath, for the traitor knight has no honor to swear on in any case. All I can say, to plead my case, is that I would not be telling you of the matter were I the traitor.”

“That is so, no doubt. And...I do not believe it of you, either. Not with how warmly you are spoken of by the citizens of Portia, or with the effort you put in to preparing such fine cuisine. True chefs nurture life, they do not destroy it – and you are a true chef, I will swear to that.”

Django smiled at the robot, inexplicably touched. _There is a siblinghood of knights, I have always known, but now I find there is a siblinghood of chefs as well._ “One chef knows another. Thank you for that trust. I will not betray it.”

“I do not believe you will.” Ack paused, as if pondering something. “If I may also have the privilege of asking personal questions...how is a person selected to be trained for knighthood? Or is it an apprenticeship for which you apply?”

Django closed his eyes, memories flooding back that usually hid in the darkest corners of his mind. “Originally, it was an apprenticeship chosen by grown men, who sought out training until deemed worthy to accept the accolade. But later, as the wars grew more demanding, and cities were under great pressure to produce as many capable fighters as possible, armies kept watch for children with...particular talents. Families were told it was their patriotic duty, if their child showed these talents, to allow them to be taken, at the age of seven, and trained for knighthood, to serve their city and its people. Children were taught it was the greatest honor possible. The wars being over, they have mostly ended that practice, though I'm told it still continues in Duvos, sometimes.”

“Is that how you were taken?”

He nodded, his hand unconsciously reaching for the locket he wore, always, inside his tunic. “I had been sparring with some classmates, and instinctively, accidentally, I channeled lightning, and injured a friend badly. He recovered eventually, I am told, for which I am deeply thankful, but he would always bear the scars. The next day, the soldiers came for me. I...thought of it as a chance to atone for hurting my friend. My parents wept, but they knew their duty.” He pulled out the locket, showing it to Ack. “My father managed to put this in my hand just before they took me away, though, and I've worn it ever since. It contains a lock of hair from each of them. They must have suspected, must have wanted me to have something of them. I never saw them again, in any case. Duvos was suspected of targeting the families of knights, so they were moved to a different village, given new identities, told everyone their son had died. I was told they were well rewarded for having provided the Free Cities with a knight, and I worked hard to honor their sacrifice, so that they would continue to be in favor. But I don't know for certain what happened to them. I wouldn't even know where to look for them, now.” 

“You say that locket contains hair?” Ack inquired. “I have sensors that would allow me to do a DNA analysis scan, if you do not object. I would not need to damage the hair in any way, just to examine it briefly. And a lock of your own hair, for comparison. I could do the scan with your own hair alone, but having both your parents' provides additional data.”

“What's DNA?” asked Django, startled. 

“Think of it as...the recipe for making a person, which is found in every cell of the body, and tells that cell how to grow and develop in order to fit into the whole. If I have a scan of your DNA, and of DNA of your known closest relatives, I can compare those to other scans that I am permitted to take, and if I find a relative of yours, I will be able to alert you to the fact.”

“I would...very much appreciate that, thank you.” His head was spinning. _The chance to find my family? Knights are supposed to renounce their families, but...I'm retired now, there's nothing to stop me..._

“Mind you, the probability of locating a family member of yours in a town like Portia is relatively small, but there is always a chance. And Portia is getting more tourists every year, thanks to Mayor Gale's ambitious building programs.”

He held out the locket. “Scan away. If there's a chance, there's a chance. I won't hope for much, but it would be nice to know, if you did find someone.”

Ack carefully opened the locket, and looked intently at the hair inside for a second or two, then closed it and handed it back to him, then carefully took in his fingers a lock of Django's own hair, and did the same. He closed his eyes for a minute or so, then reopened them. “It is done. Thank you for the data. I can say with certainty that the people to whom these locks of hair belonged are in fact your biological parents, and that you are not close kin to anyone who served aboard the _Altair One_ , though that would be nearly impossible in any case due to the time difference. Though there is a possibility that you might be a collateral descendant of Engineer First Class Mirian Alazraki, who had several siblings if I recall correctly, but it is uncertain. You share some intriguing genetic markers, in any case. I have only collected data on a few Portians so far, but I can say with reasonable certainty that you are not within five or six degrees of relatedness to Farmer Sophie, Farmer Emily, Captain Arlo, Builder Alienor, or either of the Researchers, Merlin or Petra.”

_Well, that's a relief. It would have been truly disturbing to find out Alienor was my long-lost niece or something..._ He simply nodded. “I hadn't thought so. But thank you for taking the trouble to look on my behalf.”

“It is the least I can do, one chef to another.” Ack cocked his head in a very humanlike gesture. “Have you considered, if the traitor knight was taken as you were, in early childhood, that the trauma might have damaged him in some way, or driven him to hatred of those who caused it, leading him to turn on the Free Cities?”

“It's possible. There were certainly those who resented the whole matter, though frequently they washed out of the program and were sent home in any case. Knighthood takes absolute dedication. Resentment would eat away at that dedication like rust on armor.”

“And yet, if such a one made it through the training, he or she would be a formidable enemy.”

“No doubt. That is, I suspect, one reason they ended the practice.”

They chatted and worked companionably together until lunch rush, and Django found himself truly enjoying the AI's company. _They are people too. Even if some of them hate us and want to kill us...well, goodness knows, there are enough flesh and blood humans in Duvos who would delight in the chance to bring down the Storm Knight and dance on my grave..._

“I have very much enjoyed our conversation,” Ack said finally, “but I have other work I must complete today, and I suspect you do as well. Thank you very much for allowing me access to your kitchen, and sharing your wonderful dishes with me.”

“Oh, please, do stop by anytime you feel inclined! It's always a pleasure to work with someone else, and you have a real gift for flavor combinations. And I enjoy your company.”

If a robot could beam, Ack was doing it. “Thank you. I believe I will. Good day to you!”


	11. Chapter 11

He saw little of Alienor that day or the next- she was working furiously in her workshop, on a few projects at once, and came in to eat in groups with others, so he never had a chance to speak with her alone. But when he did see her, both her wrists were bare, and she showed no sign of having offered the heart-knot he had found to anyone. He wondered if she had offered it, but been rejected – but surely no man in Portia would be so foolish, and she didn't seem to be heartbroken. _Maybe she's just been too busy. It's none of my business anyway._

She did always have time to come by and say good morning, after she snagged her morning's commission and before she went down the way to Alice's shop to buy flowers. (He suspected her of buying rather more flowers than she needed in order to support the young refugee siblings, which was something he often did himself - but fresh flowers brighten and cheer a restaurant, after all, he told himself, and no doubt they did the same for a workshop.) She usually had a small gift for him, a candle or a bouquet of roses, which warmed his heart – but, he noted, she also generally had something for Toby and Sonia as well. It was just something she did, it didn't mean anything special, he was certain of it. But he treasured them nonetheless. 

He focused his attention diligently on his cooking, working with some of the new ideas Ack had given him and doing his best to thoroughly perfect his old familiar dishes, and on keeping his ears open for any loose gossip. Nothing came to light, except Mali's impatience for Alienor to be finished with that lift so she could go adventuring in the ruins. 

And then, late one evening, just as he had sent Sonia home and was starting to clean up for the night, Alienor came in, looking tired but triumphant, hauling a rectangular device bearing two large horns, looking like a strange sort of end table. “Here it is. Sorry to bother you so late with it, but I just finished, and I wanted to get it to you so we could test it out before tomorrow.”

“You are never a bother, my dear. Is this the boombox thing, then?” He peered at it curiously. 

“Yes, indeed. Want to see if it works? Petra included a cassette of some pre-Darkness music. She says it's kind of a mixed bag, though.” Alienor looked up at him, endearingly hopeful, clearly eager to show off her creation. 

He could not resist that smile any more than he could stop his heart from beating. “Well, then, show me how to turn it on.”

“It's easy, you just insert the cassette here, and flip the switch there- this knob manages the volume, see? - and...here it goes!” 

The room filled with the bright, lively sounds of a polka, and Alienor clapped her hands in delight. “It works!” 

“But of course it does,” he said fondly. “You made it.” 

The look she gave him felt like the bright sun must have felt, on that first dawning after the Age of Darkness. And then he was reaching his hands out for her, and she was taking them, stepping closer, and all of a sudden, as if by instinct, they were spinning around the room in a delighted dance, twirling and laughing, letting the music guide their feet as they dodged chairs and tables and all. The music seemed to dance with them, the air full of the bright, brassy melody, and he was dizzy from more than just the swirling motion, half-drunk with exhilaration, delighting in how perfectly they fit and moved together. Her eyes shone brilliant, merry and mischievous, in the candlelight, and he felt the lightning singing in his veins as it never had before, lighting his heart on fire, burning his doubts and fears to ash that blew away behind them. 

He never wanted the moment to end, but of course all such moments do. The song swirled to a stop and so did they, landing perfectly just in front of the bar. But just as he was about to let go of her with a courtly bow, another song began, softer, slower, but just as intense. A husky male voice began to croon:

_You must remember this  
A kiss is just a kiss  
A sigh is just a sigh...  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by..._

The smile disappeared from her eyes, replaced by a different sort of look, one that made his heart do somersaults in his chest. His knees, which had withstood a hundred battles without a tremor, suddenly seemed made of jelly, and he felt as if his breath had stopped short in his lungs. Instead of stepping back, she stepped closer, pulling him to her, until they were almost, but not quite, embracing, till he could smell the soft perfume of her hair against his cheek, till he was sure she must be able to hear the pounding of his heart. Again, he felt the music take him over, gently leading them on, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the moment. 

_Mother Earth, I know it's selfish, I know I'm weak, I know I forswore this, but...please, please, just let me have this one thing for this one moment. I gave You my childhood, I gave You my youth, all of it I gave to service, to that greater love, for the greater good. I did it without stinting, and I wouldn't take it back now, not even if I could. But just for this one moment, let me have this, let me have a taste of what I left behind. Let me feel twenty years younger for a bit, let me be just an ordinary man, holding the woman I love close in my arms, let me pretend I can have this sweetness for more than the span of a song.._

_Moonlight and love songs, never out of date  
Hearts filled with passion, jealousy and hate  
Woman needs man, and man must have his mate,  
That no one can deny...._

_It's still the same old story,  
A fight for love and glory,  
A case of do or die...  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by. _

The song drifted to a halt, and they stepped apart, an awkward shyness slipping between them like a new partner in the dance. Her hands were still in his, neither seeming to want to let go completely. Her eyes seemed luminescent in the shadowy room, and her lips were softly parted, practically inviting him to bend down and brush them with his own. _Would it do so much harm?_ he thought. _Just a single kiss, soft and sweet..._ his heart ached for it, craved it, but cold reality flooded back into his mind, forcing him to step back again, to let go of her hands, and to move to turn off the boombox before it could give him any more illusions. _I'm old enough to be her father. And she has someone else's heart-knot. The music swept us up in it, that's all, she doesn't really want this, what pretty young woman would desire an old man like me?_

“Thank you,” he finally got out. “I think it works very well.” The words hung cold and useless in the air. 

“Y-yes, I think it does,” she stammered, ducking her head and rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. 

“Um. Let me get your commission fee, and then I think it's about time to lock up for the night.” He dug around under the bar for the cash box, avoiding her eyes, and counted out the Gols into a bag, which he handed to her. “This will be a great asset to the restaurant, I think. Thank you again, my dear.” 

“Django, I...” she took the bag, but paused a moment. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, finally, and hastily left. 

He closed his eyes after she had gone, his heart and arms feeling cold and empty. Desperate for something, anything, to fill the void, he took his practice sword from behind the bar and began running through his forms, one after another, every movement swift, clean, and perfect from long habit. But there were tears running down his cheeks as he worked, and if someone had been present, they might have heard him whispering under his breath, like a mantra, with each strike, parry, and thrust, “You...damned...stupid...lovesick...old...fool!”


	12. Chapter 12

He feared that things between them would be awkward for a while after that, but nothing outward seemed to change. She had finished the lift for Mali, who was happily poking about in the ruins, as far as he knew, and she came by as often as she usually did for dinner, although they carefully avoided each other's eyes when certain songs came up on the boombox.

And then one day she didn't come by at all, even for her usual morning greeting, and he found himself watching the clock, worrying. He worried even more when he overheard Antoine telling Sonia that she hadn't been to the Commerce Guild that morning, because Mali had hauled her off to assist her in ruin-diving. _She's got the tools and the skills to get past that door I couldn't. There are bound to be dangers there, things she might not be prepared for. If she hasn't come back, if she doesn't come back..._ Fear gripped him as it never had before, not even in the darkest moments of the war – but then, all he'd had to lose then was his own life. 

The suspense was eating at him from the inside when Mali arrived, out of breath and looking uncharacteristically disheveled. “Where's Alienor?” he asked, trying and failing to sound casual. “Wasn't she with you today?”

Mali nodded. “She was, but we ran into some trouble, and she's at the clinic being treated for burns. She's going to be fine, but Dr. Xu wants to keep her overnight for observation and to make sure his special burn cream is working as it should. Could you please send her over some dinner?” 

“Of course, of course, I'll have it ready in a minute.” He hastened to grab a basket from the wall, and began packing it with containers of food, but couldn't help asking, “How bad is it? Is she in a lot of pain?”

“She's all right now – the burn cream helped a lot. But I tell you, it's not been a day I want to repeat in a hurry. Our pre-Darkness ancestors have a lot to answer for. Moving walls covered in spikes, flame-shooting turnstiles, a giant robot pig...but Alienor handled herself like a champ. The woman's a fighter.” Mali shook her head in admiration. 

“You took an innocent Builder into ruins with all of that? Mali, are you crazy?” He was shaking, fear and anger fighting for dominance, but barely managed enough self control to keep his voice at a normal pitch.

She held up her hands defensively. “Hey, now, I didn't know any of that was there either. And she's no fainting flower. She more than held her own in there, even saved my butt once or twice. And she's quick on her feet, strikes hard and clean, and knows exactly where to hit and when to dodge– almost as if she'd been trained by a knight.” 

He nodded sharply, still unwilling to forgive completely. “We've sparred some. She's good, I'll grant you, but fighting's not her job. And we can't afford to lose her.”

“You really care about her, don't you?” 

“She's well loved in Portia.” He turned away to pack the food containers tidily into the basket, but Mali did not miss the expression on his face. 

“Come with me. You can see for yourself she's all right.”

“I'll go alone. You stay and eat here, and then go get some rest. If there's that much danger around here, we're going to need all the fighters we have in top condition.” 

“Yes, sir,” she saluted him affectionately. “You go take care of your lady. I'll go eat, and brief the Corps while I'm at it. I see they've got their usual table.”

“She's not my...” he started, his face hot, but Mali had already turned away towards the Corps. He sighed and sought out Sonia, who was expertly managing to flirt with Albert while carefully putting a plate of bacon fish roll in front of Gust. “Can you handle things here for an hour or so? Alienor's in the Clinic, with some bad burns, and I want to take her some dinner.”

“I got it, Boss. You go, and make sure she's OK.” A thought occurred to her. “Why don't you go hire Ack to do the cooking while you're gone? Then you can stay as long as you like.”

“That's not a bad idea, actually. I know he can handle it, if he's free. I'll go ask. Thank you, my dear.” He patted her shoulder affectionately, took the basket, and left. 

Ack was delighted to have a chance to be of service, and hastened off to the restaurant as fast as his one good and one makeshift leg could take him. Django went in the opposite direction, up the hill to the Clinic, as fast as his heart could drive him.

Phyllis turned to greet him as he came in, eyebrows raising as she saw him. “I thought Mali...”

“I made her promise to eat something and go to bed,” he said, but his eyes were already fixed on Alienor, lying on the bed across the room having her arm expertly bandaged by Dr. Xu. 

She turned at the sound of his voice, and smiled at him, and he felt the fear that had been clutching at his heart all day relax its grip a little. 

“Good,” said Phyllis with approval. “That's exactly what she needs to do.”

He handed her the basket. “There's supper in here for you and Dr. Xu as well as Alienor. On the house. I know all three of you work too hard.”

“Thank you, Django.” The doctor looked up from his work, and Django noted that he did indeed look tired. “It's been a difficult day, and dinner is heartily welcome. Granny Sophie got the notion to go looking for her chickens in the Collapsed Wasteland, and Arlo had to rescue her from a flock of Pinecocks she was trying to feed, Ginger tried to do too much and had a fainting spell as a result, and Toby was trying to show off his riding abilities to Jack, snuck up to the Civil Corps stable, and ended up getting soundly kicked by Arrow. Nothing badly damaged, thankfully, just a bruise.”

“Well, it'll be a valuable lesson for him,” sighed Django, resolving to add riding lessons to Toby's curriculum. _Maybe I can keep a colorful llama for him and the other kids to learn to ride on, behind the restaurant. They're much gentler than horses, and it'll distract him from the Corps mounts. Arrow in particular is touchy if she doesn't know you well, which is why Remington has that knee problem..._

“Sorry to add to your troubles today, Doc,” Alienor said ruefully. 

“You're never a trouble, Alienor,” Dr. Xu smiled at her, and Django felt a pang. _Was it the doctor she intended the heart knot for? If so,_ he told himself sternly, _you will tell her how happy you are for her, and you will do it with a smile on your face, because Dr. Xu is a good kind man and would be an excellent sweetheart for her._

But then she turned her brilliant smile on him, and he could barely breathe for the light of it. “And you, Django, you always look out for me.”

“Not well enough, apparently. What have you and Mali been getting into?” He crossed the room in a couple of steps to kneel by her side. There was a burn mark down her cheek, which had been daubed carefully with Dr. Xu's special burn cream – as a cook, Django was very familiar with that burn cream, and knew it to be exceedingly effective. He himself would have far more scars than he did without it. Her arm was bandaged from the elbow downward, too, and she looked exhausted. 

“Well, we found something interesting, which Mali's handed off to the Research ladies, but in finding it, we triggered a whole bunch of nasty booby traps.” She shuddered. “Someone didn't want us to walk off with it, I suspect.” 

_That's odd. If it relates to All Source, I thought they wanted us to take it away? Perhaps they're worried we'll keep it, and wanted to save it for their traitor knight to take – or perhaps it was just an automatic sequence triggered by unauthorized removal._

Outwardly, all he said was, “I don't suppose they did. Are you truly all right, my dear?”

“I'm fine, don't worry about me. Just a few minor burns.”

Phyllis raised an eyebrow. “Minor, she says. You were lucky to keep the use of that arm. What did you run into, a wall of fire?”

“Something very like that, actually. Except it moved. We had to pick just the right moment to dodge. You'd think it was testing us.”

He took hold of that last statement, anything to distract him from her injuries. _Testing us? Interesting possibility. A knight would have far faster reflexes and would be able to get out of that situation much more easily than ordinary fighters, even those of Mali's caliber._ “We're going to do some training on quickness and reaction time, once you're out of those bandages. If you're going to keep throwing yourself into danger like this, at least let me help you prepare for it.”

“You ought not keep throwing yourself into danger at all,” said Dr. Xu firmly. “Leave that to the Civil Corps and Mali, it's their job.”

“They need Builders sometimes to help them through. Mali wouldn't have found...what she did without me. No, Django's right, I need more training. The safety of Portia might be at stake, and those of us who are strong enough to fight are going to have to.” 

“Bravely spoken, my dear. But please, don't risk yourself unnecessarily. Portia needs live Builders far more than it does dead heroes.” _And it would be so cold and empty without you._

“Then I'm going to train, and train hard. I refuse to be taken out by some stupid robot pig.” She set her chin and looked up at him challengingly. 

“That's the spirit. Recover first, please. And to that end, you should eat something.” 

Phyllis had placed the basket on the doctor's desk, and Django walked over and took the lid off, sending the aroma of the food it contained through the office. It warmed his heart to see all three inhale greedily – the sign of a chef's job well done. He pulled out the three trays, handing one to Phyllis and one to the doctor, and took the third over to Alienor, setting it carefully in front of her. 

She took the spoon in her good hand and began eating ravenously. He could tell she hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food was in front of her, but the grateful look she gave him after her first bite was a tonic to his soul. “You're a genius, Django. How do you always know what I'm craving at any given moment?”

“To be honest, I always used to favor sweet things after a battle, too. It's a comfort thing, I suspect, a reassurance that we're still alive and able to enjoy the sweetnesses of life.” 

“It's also a matter of energy replenishment,” Phyllis said matter-of-factly between bites of her own supper. “Sugars and starches are energy, and your body needs to make up for the resources it's spent. But protein and vitamins are also necessary. A healthy diet is vital to a healthy body.” She waved a forkful of salad at Alienor.

“As is sleep,” Dr. Xu added. “Once you've finished your supper, you ought to try to sleep for a while. It's nature's best restorative, and a better medicine than anything else I can prescribe for you right now.”

“Which is no doubt my cue to go.” Django acknowledged the doctor's significant glance, and almost turned to leave, but Alienor caught his wrist.

“Please...stay till I'm done with supper, anyway.” She looked up at him entreatingly, but then bit her lip and looked away. “If...if you don't need to go back to the restaurant right away, that is.”

“Ack's taken over the cooking for me for the time being. I can stay as long as you need me to, if the doctor agrees?” He looked inquiringly at Dr. Xu, keeping his face calm while his heart traitorously bubbled over inside him. 

“Well, she needs to stay awake to eat anyhow, I don't see that it'll do her harm to have some company. Just make sure she doesn't stop eating too much to talk.” 

“I'm too hungry not to eat, Doc, I promise.” 

“Good girl. Actually, if you don't mind staying with her for a bit, Django, that would free Phyllis and I up to go check on Ginger – I'm rather worried about her, as she seems to be collapsing more often lately.”

“Yes, please go look after Ginger,” Alienor said. “I'm fine, all I need is time. Tell her to rest and get strong.”

“I will. You do the same, and we'll be back in a bit.”

As soon as they were gone, she turned back to him, her face suddenly serious. “Django, we found something big in there. Something that Petra's going to be really thrilled by, but...I can't help thinking we're stepping into something none of us have any idea how to handle.”

He nodded, gravely. “The Ancients didn't set traps like that for trivial things. But there is not much that the Civil Corps and Mali between them can't handle.” _And what they can't, I will, for your sake._ “Forgive me for asking – I know there may be some things you have been told to keep secret – but did what you find relate at all to something called the All Source?”

“How did you know?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and startled. 

“I have...overheard some things in the tunnels of Ingalls' Mine that you should know about.” He told her the story, carefully brushing over the reason he'd been in Ingalls' Mine in the first place. “If you've found the All Source, we cannot let it leave Portia under any circumstances.”

“We haven't found it yet, just the locator computer for it. We still need to find the keycode, and Mali's got some ideas about where it might be found.” She paused. “We're going to be up against some tough foes with very little to lose, aren't we? With the fate of Portia and maybe the whole human race at stake?”

He nodded, bleakly. “Something like that.”

She looked down at her burned arm. “I was serious about needing to train harder. I need your help, Django. I need to get as good as I possibly can at fighting, and I need to do it very quickly. Could we make some time for regular sparring sessions, and would you be willing to teach me anything you can teach me about fighting? That isn't, I don't know, some sort of knightly secret or something?”

He chuckled. “Knighthood doesn't have many secrets, beyond hard work and service. And I am always at your service, my dear. When you are fully recovered, that is.”

“Well, yes. I'm not going to be much good at all like this.” She took another bite of the coconut chicken, chewing thoughtfully. “Don't go easy on me, though. Our enemies won't.”

“No indeed. I only go easy on children, and when sparring is a game. Please remember when you are tired and bruised, you will be so specifically because I value your life and would like you to keep it.” 

“That means a lot to me. Thank you.” She smiled at him, tiredly. “I'm a practical woman, I'm trying not to panic about what you've just told me, trying to focus on what I can do to stop it instead. But...frankly, Django, I'm terrified.”

“You'd be a fool not to be. I am too.” He picked up her free hand and held it gently in his.

“It's funny. Since coming to Portia, I've felt happier and more alive than I ever have before – I've got work I love, I've made friends, and...” she glanced at him, bit her lip, and looked away. “Well, it feels like I have something real to lose now, and it scares me.”

He nodded. He knew that feeling all too well. “Had you nothing and no one in Barnarock that was real?” 

“Aunt Kendra...but she was starting to fade by the time I was sixteen, the way Granny Sophie is now, and she was a toddler in a grown woman's body by the time I was twenty. I never minded caring for her, as she had always cared for me, but...it was a mercy when she finally passed on. For her, and for everyone who had known her as she was.” There was a tear rolling down her cheek, and Django gently, daringly, reached a finger to wipe it away. 

“And no suitors, lining up at the door to serenade you?” he teased, trying to distract her.

She laughed. “I'm not the radiantly lovely Faerie Queen from your stories, alas. I've been training to be a Builder since I was seven. Got my first callouses and burn scars before I was eight. Haven't had an outfit since that didn't have oil or paint stains on it within an hour of putting it on. And the men in Barnarock tend to prefer a woman with more...feminine sensibilities, one who can't bench-press them and won't try.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have to admit, I never liked Barnarock much when I visited, but I never dreamed the men there were such fools. My dear, you are lovelier than any Queen who ever reigned, and skill and strength only add to that.” He wondered, as the words were coming out of his mouth, if he had gone too far, but, he told himself, it was the simple truth.

She blushed. “Flatterer. It wasn't as if I had time to be interested in any of them anyway, between getting started as a Builder and caring for Aunt Kendra. I was an odd girl, and my aunt's mental state tended to unnerve people. People tended to avoid us unless they needed something built. I got very used to my own company. Which is why it was so easy to pack up and come to Portia after she died. I had nothing to lose, nothing to leave behind.”

“And now you have a home, and friends, and it's all the more frightening when it's threatened. I understand- it's much the same for me. Knights aren't encouraged to form any lasting social ties, and since coming here, I've found just how much I enjoy the company of other human beings.”

She smiled at him. “It's hard to imagine you a loner. No lovelorn maidens left sighing in your wake?”

He chuckled. “Only an occasional casual liaison here and there, mainly between fellow knights. Nothing serious on either side.”

She looked at him sideways, suddenly tentative. “You and Mali...have you ever? Um. Only, she speaks very highly of you.” 

“No, no, nothing like that. I've fought side by side with her, and I respect her skills very much, but there's never been anything of that sort between us. I didn't even think she'd recognize me, in this place and time, but she's sharp.” 

“She called you a legend.”

He laughed. “A legend poorly told and much exaggerated, I'm sure. And all that's in the past, anyway. I'll fight to defend Portia if I have to, and I can teach others, but I'm no longer what I was.”

“No, wiser and better, I suspect. Experience does that.”

“And Mother Earth knows, I have years of that.” His lips twitched up wryly. _Too many, alas, too many, my heart! If I were twenty years younger...you might still love someone else,_ his practical side reminded him. _No use wishing for what might not be anyway._

“One would think you were old and grey like Isaac, the way you talk sometimes,” she teased. 

“I've been feeling my age more lately,” he admitted ruefully, “watching you and Mali and the Corps go off to fight. I wish I could join you...”

“You think we can't handle it?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Or do you just want in on the fun?”

“I don't think there's much you five couldn't handle. But I have seen people I...cared about fall before – brave, fierce fighters all - and I do not want to see you, any one of you fall, and have to live with the knowledge that I could have prevented it but didn't.”

“Then train me, the way you do Sam. Be merciless. Give me the strength I need to protect myself even if you're not around to protect me.”

“That I will, with all my heart. Just...don't hate me too much afterwards.”

“I'll bless every bruise.” Her eyes met and held his, and there was something in them that left him breathless, unable to look away, intensely conscious of the way her hand was still in his. “Because it means you want to keep me safe.”

“'Course I do, my dear.” He broke her gaze and forced himself to turn away, not wanting her to see his heart naked and clear on his face. _She wants the loving, protective father she never had. If I take advantage of that for my own desires, I am a monster._

The moment was interrupted by Phyllis bustling through the door, followed immediately by Dr. Xu. “Ginger seems well enough. Russo reports she ate a reasonable amount of dinner and took herself to bed, which is where she ought to be right now. And the same goes for you, young lady.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Alienor replied wryly, but her eyes were still fixed on Django. “Django – do you have some time tomorrow? They'll let me out of here in the morning, unless things go badly wrong, and there are...things I need to talk to you about.”

“I can always make time for you. Perhaps two o'clock, between lunch and dinner rush?”

“Perfect. I'll meet you in Peach Plaza.” 

“At your service, my dear.” He stood in one swift motion and bowed over her hand, not quite touching it to his lips, then nodded to Phyllis and the doctor and took his leave, along with the empty dishes.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, he was early to the meeting spot, trying to look as though he was simply casually watching the fountain. He knew Sonia wasn't fooled – she had laughingly teased him for watching the clock during the lunch rush, and had practically shoved him out the door the moment the crowd dwindled down. _She probably just wants to talk about what they found yesterday, that's all,_ he told himself. But he couldn't help the way his heart raced with anticipation, or how hard it was to keep his hands still at his sides. _Old fool._

“Hey. Sorry I'm late,” he heard from behind him, in an uncharacteristically tentative voice. He turned to face her, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. She wore, not her usual stained and rugged Builder's clothes, but an elegant (and quite form-fitting, he noted) white blouse combined with an asymmetric black skirt that swung backwards to show off her lithe, strong legs. Her arm was still bandaged, but the burn cream had left her face mostly healed, with only a thin red line to show the injury. Her seafoam hair was tied up in a tumble of carelessly graceful curls that must have taken Sanwa all morning to achieve, and she was smiling at him shyly in a way that made him dizzy. 

_A gentleman does not stare,_ he reminded himself sternly, _nor does he drool._ He closed his mouth hastily, and after a moment managed to force himself to say, “You're not late at all. I was early. You look lovely, my dear.”

She turned pink, and bit her lip. “I...thought I'd wear something I hadn't worn a hundred times before, just for a change. And...would you be willing to try something new? I just got these hot air balloons built for Mayor Gale, and we were looking to test them out before opening them up for the tourist trade. They're perfectly safe,” she hastened to add, “he just wants to see if people enjoy them.”

He extended an arm to her as they began to walk towards the gate, and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, as natural as could be. “That sounds delightful. I've been up in a few airplanes, but never a balloon – I gather they're far more relaxing, and less godawfully noisy.”

“Oh, they're perfectly quiet, except for the occasional whoosh of the air heater. And you get the most spectacular view. I can't wait to show you!” She tugged at his arm eagerly, her eyes bright and brimming over with enthusiasm. _Like a child eager to show her father what she's made,_ he thought tenderly, and ruefully. 

She continued, “As a matter of fact, there's someone else I want to show you, too – I got her from Farmer MacDonald just this morning. Hang on a moment.”

They had reached the gate of her workshop, and without bothering to open it, she vaulted over the fence, light as a feather. Django pretended not to notice the way the motion showed off her firm, perfectly-shaped legs. She was back in half a second leading a tall white mare, who seemed mildly dubious about the whole process but, on the whole, willing to cooperate in exchange for the pieces of pumpkin Alienor was offering her. “This is Reinette. She's not quite accustomed to me yet, but she's a very good, polite girl, aren't you, love? I've always wanted a horse of my own, and I've finally got enough room on my farm for a stable, so I can indulge myself at last.” 

Django was a reasonable judge of horses, having ridden many into battle before, and he could tell Alienor had chosen well. There was intelligence and sense in the brown eyes quietly regarding him, and the sleek, muscular body promised strength and speed. She had been well-treated, no doubt- MacDonald was good to his livestock – and she responded easily and readily to her new mistress's motions. Alienor mounted with one swift motion, and gave him a brilliant smile. “Come on up behind me. She can carry two easily, and we'll get there much faster that way.”

_She has no idea what she's doing to me,_ he sighed internally, but mounted up behind her, his arms falling naturally around her waist, his body pressed close against... _no, better not think about that. Think about anything but that._ His eyes fell on the delicate skin of her neck, just where it met her shoulder, and he bit his lip to keep himself from imagining what it would feel like under his lips, how he could leave a trail of soft kisses down her... _no, no, we are not thinking of that. Look up. It's a beautiful sunny day. Granny Sophie is feeding her chickens, I see, how charming. Emily's pumpkin is coming along nicely, it should be a shoo-in at the Autumn Festival...oh, Peach, my heart, don't lean back against me that way and sigh. I can't stand it...I wonder how many llamas there are in the field over there? One, two, three, four...the way her skirt's riding up over her legs, if my hand moved just an inch I could...LLAMAS, dammit! Focus on the llamas...five, six...is that a cotton llama behind the other one? She's left the top two buttons of her blouse undone...a gentleman does not stare at a lady's breasts, however perfect they are, and he certainly doesn't fantasize about distracting her with his mouth on her neck and shoulders while he unbuttons the rest...oh, look, Illusion Bunnies. They must have spread – last bunch I saw was over by the tree farm. If they've got a new colony going I ought to help thin them out – they do make a tasty stew. Oops, she's going to jump that fence, I'd better hang on...oh, Mother Earth, if she rolls her hips against me like that once more I'm not going to be able to keep from showing how much I want her...a knight is in control of himself, body and mind and spirit, a knight controls himself and is not controlled..._

It was, on the whole, a long ride to the Duck Pond, far longer than walking would have been. He dismounted hastily as soon as they arrived, under the guise of offering her a courteous hand down, grateful that he was wearing loose clothing.

She patted Reinette's neck and told her to “stay”, and the horse agreeably nuzzled her shoulder and proceeded to the important business of grazing, apparently finding the lush green grass that grew abundantly in the fertile soil around the pond very much to her taste.

The balloons loomed over them, three great bubbles of brightly-colored silk suspended over neatly-woven wicker baskets by tight, strong ropes. “It never fails to amaze me, the wonders you produce from that little workshop. And these truly fly? Without motors or engines or propellers?”

“Yep.” She grinned at him. “Hot air is lighter than cold – that's all we need to soar with the birds. Come on, let's try it out! Where do you want to go?”

“How about over the Collapsed Wasteland? I'd rather like to see the shape of that from above – Petra and Merlin have an ongoing debate over how and why it collapsed, and I'm rather curious myself.”

“As you wish.” She gave him a merry smile, and jumped into the first balloon's basket, beckoning him to follow.

He did, finding the wicker surface of the basket strong but pleasantly resilient under his feet.

“It'll hold far more than our weight,” she reassured him. “We tested it with a cow, a sheep and a chicken. They were kind of confused, but actually did OK. Floated around for a bit before we brought them down, and then they just...went back to grazing and pecking as if nothing had happened.”

“They live in the present. It must be a very peaceful existence.” _No longing for what they can't have..._ he thought, glancing at her, her green eyes fixed intently on her work. 

She pulled a rope, and cut another one, and for a second nothing happened. Then, he felt the basket move under his feet, tentatively at first, then more smoothly as it launched into the air. The ground moved away, as they floated up, as gently as a bubble on the breeze.

“Astounding,” he breathed, taking in the view as they moved past the treetops, above Portia's walls, over the buildings. 

“Isn't it?” Her face was glowing with pride as she moved to stand next to him.

For a minute they simply stood together, looking out across the distance, content in each other's company. He felt her hand reach for his, and took it...and felt something small and silken drop into his palm. He looked down, and caught his breath, sure he was dreaming. But the little red heart knot stayed there, tangible and clear to his sight, and he looked up again into anxious sea-green eyes and could not speak for a minute. Finally, he gathered his wits, but his voice shook as he said, “Don't play with an old knight's heart like that.” 

“I'm not playing,” she said, indignant. “I wouldn't. I mean it.”

“You can't mean...I'm old enough to be your father!” 

“I'm not looking for a father figure, if that's what you're worried about. I'm a grown woman, I have my own business, I've been taking care of myself for a decade now. I want a lover, not a father.” She bit her lip, suddenly shy. “But...I might have died in that ruin with Mali yesterday. It made me realize...any of us could go at any time, and I'm not scared to die exactly, but I'm scared to death to die without ever having told you I'm in love with you, without ever finding out if I had a chance with you.” That last came out in a rush, in a trembling voice that seemed near tears. “I've loved you so long, Django, I'd thought, I'd hoped...when we danced together that night, when you held me so tenderly...did that really mean nothing to you?”

He couldn't bear to have her think that, even while he told himself it would be best for her if she did. “It meant everything to me, my heart. Everything. It was the sweetest, holiest moment of my life. And if I'd been twenty years younger...” he traced a finger down the side of her cheek, saw her eyes close momentarily at his touch, ached to kiss her but held back, determined to give her every chance to back out. “But I'm not, alas, and you deserve someone young and handsome, someone who won't be senile and decrepit when you're still hale and strong.”

“No one knows what the future's going to bring. Given my family history, I might be the one who loses my wits first. Like Aunt Kendra did,” she pointed out, logically. “And I don't want someone younger. I want you, Django, only you. However much time we have together, I _want_ that time, I don't want to waste it loving you the way I do and never being able to have you.” 

The tears were slipping faster down her cheeks now, and he could not stand seeing her hurt any longer, bent to kiss them away, softly, one by one. “Oh, my heart, I'm yours, I'm yours,” he murmured between kisses, “I've always been yours, only ever yours.” 

She turned her head slightly, and her lips brushed his, softly, hesitantly at first, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, deepening the kiss in a way that wiped away his last remaining doubts, leaving nothing behind but the sure knowledge that this was right, this was perfect, this was exactly as things were meant to be.


	14. Chapter 14

They had to come down to Earth at some point – in more ways than one – but he felt as if his feet would never completely touch the ground again. “Sonia will never let me live this down,” he said ruefully, as he helped her out of the basket, but he was smiling. 

“She's the one who pushed me to tell you. I told her, just before I went off with Mali, that I wanted to give you a heart knot but didn't know if I should, and she told me that if I didn't do it, she'd tell Antoine I'd invented a new face cream I wasn't sharing.”

Django laughed out loud. “She's a dangerous woman, our Sonia.”

Alienor looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “She knew, didn't she.”

He nodded ruefully. “It was rather hard to hide the way I was pining over you.”

“Pining over me...” she shook her head. “To think I've had a knight pining over me. It's astounding.” 

“My heart, it astounds me that you don't have every man in town pining over you.”

“That would be...tiresome, actually. I'm so glad there's only you.” She reached up and kissed his lips, briefly but tenderly. 

“I'm not going to be able to wipe this silly grin off my face for the rest of the day, you know. Perhaps the next several years. People are going to think I'm a loon.” He smiled down at her. “And I don't care in the least. I never want this feeling to end.”

“Me neither.” 

They stayed there for a few seconds, gazing into each other's eyes, until Reinette, seeing her mistress, trotted over and nibbled questioningly on Alienor's shoulder, breaking the spell. She eyed him teasingly as she swung her leg over the horse's back. “Care to ride with me again? And now I can confess that I only asked you to do it in the first place so that I could cuddle up with you...”

He blushed. “And to think I was exerting such careful self-control so as not to offend you...” He mounted up behind her and put his arms around her waist, this time allowing himself to fully appreciate the sensation of her warm body against his. 

She leaned back against him with an almost feline purr. “Oh, really? You can stop that now...”

He bent and gently kissed the curve of her neck, brushing his lips softly down to her shoulders, feeling her shiver. “Heart's desire,” he murmured against her skin. “So many nights I've lain awake longing for you...and it's truly me you want?” 

“Oh, love,” she sighed, arching back against him, reaching back to run her hands along his thighs. “Come home to me when you've closed up the Round Table tonight, and I'll show you how much I want you...” She paused, and her voice turned serious for a moment. “Just...before that, there's something I need to ask. I'm taking a birth control tea Phyllis suggested, and she says it works very well, but it's not infallible. If we...if I were to get pregnant, what would you do?”

He lifted his head momentarily and considered for a moment. “That choice is yours. I would never coerce you into anything you didn't want, my love, and I'll support you whatever you decide to do. But if you ever choose to bear a child of ours, I will love that child with all my heart, and I'll be the best father I can be. I'm not leaving you unless you push me away. I'm yours, darling, forever and always, for as long as you want me anyway- and that extends to our children, too.” _Our children._ He'd never let himself consider becoming a father before- knights didn't give hostages to fortune if they could help it. But the thought was warm and bright in his heart. 

She sighed, and leaned back against him again. “That's good to know. I'm not saying I want to, not yet – I mean, we just got together and anyway until this All Source stuff is dealt with, I'll need all the strength and fighting stamina I can muster for that...but I can see myself wanting kids someday, and accidents do happen, and...I just don't want to have to explain to my kid why their father didn't want to stick around, the way Aunt Kendra had to for me...but you'd be such a good father, I've watched you with Toby...”

“I promise you this, my love. The only way I would have a child and knowingly not be there to care for that child is if I was dead.”

“I believe it. It's one of the reasons I love you.” She turned her head up and back to kiss him lightly, before quickly turning forward again to guide Reinette through a flock of very curious sheep. “And I do love you so.” She looked back again, eyes bright and full of mischief. “Now that we've cleared that up, shall we go have dinner together in public, and set the gossips in motion?”

“If Sonia hasn't done that already,” he said, laughing. 

She had, in fact – or if she hadn't, the squeal of delight she let out when she saw them together, her heart knot tied around his wrist, did the trick. Antoine and Emily looked up immediately, and joined in the squeal, all three sandwiching them both in a huge five-way hug which almost smothered both of them before they managed to extricate themselves. This had the effect of bringing the eyes of everyone in the restaurant over to them, but, Django was grateful to see, most were more tactful. Arlo and Remington looked up from the Civil Corps' usual table, looked at each other, gave judicious nods of approval, and went back to eating, while Sam tossed them a grin and a thumbs-up. The mayoral family was eating an early supper together at one of the tables against the wall - Russo merely raised an eyebrow, and Gust seemed indifferent, but Gale and Ginger beamed at them, the father-daughter resemblance showing itself in their near-identical enthusiasm. 

They were permitted to eat dinner in peace, at least, though Sonia did sneak in an “I told you so,” along with his food. 

He only smiled back and said, “So you did, my dear, so you did. And you were right.” Sonia beamed, and patted his shoulder affectionately. 

After dinner, Alienor gave him one last lingering kiss, and whispered, “Come see me tonight when you shut down,” which made him blush and smile ( _like a loon,_ he thought, _and I still don't care_ ).

Alienor had just shut the door behind her when a small shadow emerged from the darkness to challenge her, hands fiercely planted on his hips.

“So,” Toby said, in what he apparently thought was an intimidating fashion, “are you Django's girlfriend or something now?” 

“Yeah,” she said, feeling mildly giddy at the admission. “I suppose I am.”

“You're not gonna make him stop training me, are you?”

“Why would I do that? He loves training you. I wouldn't take that from him. Or you.”

“Promise?” he asked, suspiciously, and she felt her heart go out to the boy. _He's already lost one father. And now he's afraid I'll take away another one._

“I swear. On my honor.” 

She could see the tension leave his shoulders in a rush. “Good.” He paused, considering. “You gonna marry him and have babies and stuff?” 

_Children are so blunt,_ she thought, amused. “Maybe someday,” she said out loud, feeling her face heat up. 

He bit his lip and looked up at her. “If you do have babies...do you think I could maybe be like a big brother or something to them? I mean...don't tell Mom, but I've always thought of Django like...not my real dad, my real dad was great and Mom says I shouldn't forget about him, but like a second dad or something. Or an uncle, maybe. And I've always wanted a little sister or brother, but Mom doesn't want to get married again and there aren't any kids in Portia young enough for me to be a big brother to, even in pretend. Yet.”

It was funny how quickly a kid could turn a person's heart into a soft melted puddle on the floor. “Of course. We'd love that. And...well, you've already got an excellent Mom, but...could you maybe use another Auntie?”

He beamed at her. “Auntie Alienor. That sounds nice.”

She nodded. “All right, then. You still OK with hugs, or shall we seal it with a handshake?”

She was answered by a jump-hug that nearly knocked her over. _I think I've been claimed,_ she thought, secretly delighted.


	15. (This is where it gets explicit. Be warned)

Three hours later, she paced around her newly-improved house, feeling half-sexy and half-silly in the semi-transparent clingy silk nightgown she'd commissioned so hopefully from Carol. The giddy euphoria of the afternoon and her rising anticipation of the night to come mixed with a sudden pit of fear in her stomach, as she wondered if it was possible to avoid having him see her completely naked. _It's not as if I haven't been through this before. Markus did well enough once the lights were out,_ she thought ruefully. _And he was only seventeen and tactless – Django's a gentleman. And he's a lot more experienced than Markus...maybe I won't have to pretend I'm more satisfied than I am..._ the thought of Django's long, graceful fingers exploring her made her shiver, and she bit her lip, remembering/ anticipating the feeling of him pressed up against her, embracing her, his body lean and hard and whipcord-strong...

As if to answer her fantasies, there was a hesitant knock at the door, and she ran her fingers through her hair one last time before pulling it open, revealing him standing there, looking as awkward as she felt. But the look fled from his face the moment he saw her, his eyes widening, filling with desire that echoed her own, resonated with it, sent sparks of heat flying down her spine. 

He shut the door softly behind him, and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking at her as if he'd never seen anything more amazing in his life. “My heart, my love, my life...” he murmured, bending to kiss her softly but with exquisite thoroughness, tenderly exploring her mouth with his, nibbling and sucking gently on her lower lip. 

She melted against him, savoring the soft touch but craving more, her hands sliding around his hips and pulling him against her eagerly. He was already ready for her, she noted, and he made a rough involuntary noise in his throat as she moved her hips against him, feeling his length hard against the soft silk of her gown, turning her almost dizzy with want. His mouth left hers but he only drew her closer, whispering kisses against her neck, his breath hot against her soft skin, his voice husky as he whispered in her ear, “I love you, I want you, darling, so much. Let me make love to you.” 

She turned and reclaimed his mouth, kissing him harder this time, fierce and hot and wild. “Yes, oh, Peach, yes.” He slid his hands up her sides, gentle and soft, moving over her breasts, expert fingers finding the nipples and stroking them through the silken fabric. A sensation like lightning sparked through her, setting every nerve ending on fire, and she cried out, which only seemed to encourage him.

But when he reached the buttons of her nightgown and began to undo them, she tensed, and he felt it. He pulled back and looked at her, blue eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, darling? Should I stop?” 

“No, please, it's just...”

“Is it your first time?” he asked quietly. “We can go as slowly as you need...”

“No, it's not, it's just well...I mean, there was one guy who didn't mind the rumors, so I do have some experience, but...he really didn't like to see me naked. Builders get scars, you know, and I've got a couple of really ugly ones, and I'm not very feminine anyway...too much muscle, and my breasts are too small, and...”

He stopped her with a kiss and a soft chuckle. “Scars, you say?” He stripped off his tunic with one smooth move, revealing his chest, lean, muscled, and covered in a spiderweb of scars, some overlaid on top of others. “Scars are the way your body kept you alive when you were hurt. I'm grateful to yours, my heart. There is nothing, nothing about you that isn't beautiful to me. I swear it.” 

_All right then, let's see._ She bit her lip and stepped back, reaching for the buttons, undoing them one by one as he watched, naked hunger in his eyes. He drew in his breath hard as the silken fabric slipped off her shoulders and fell to the ground. “So very beautiful,” he murmured, stepping closer but not touching, not quite yet, seemingly waiting for her permission. 

She let out a long breath and wrapped her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against hers. Tears prickled in the back of her eyes, and she fought them back, not wanting him to see how childishly relieved she was. “I love you, my heart,” he whispered in her ear, kissing and nibbling her earlobe gently in between words. “All of you. And your breasts are _perfect_.” 

Long, slender fingers reached for her right breast, cupping it gently while he stroked the hard nipple first with his fingertips, and then, bending down, his mouth, kissing and suckling it, teasing it with his tongue until she cried out in pleasure. His other hand traced the scar that ran over her stomach, and he knelt and kissed that too, tracing it down to where it met the burn scar that crossed her hips, finishing with one soft, tormenting kiss right where they met, so close to the place between her legs that cried out for his touch. She whimpered in protest when his lips left her skin, but then his mouth moved back to her breasts, the left breast this time, giving that one the same delicate, thorough attention the other had received, while his hands stayed, teasingly, right at the junction between her hips and thighs. “So perfect,” he whispered against her skin. “My fae Queen, my Goddess, let me worship you, let me show you how magnificent you are.” 

He stood in one smooth motion, and scooped her suddenly into his arms, eliciting a startled squeak. He carried her to the bed, and laid her gently across it, placing her hips on the edge of the bed and bending over her for one soft kiss to her lips before he stood. She watched, lips parted and breath coming hard and fast, as he undid his pants, which were far too tight for him by then. Very much aware of her gaze, he slid them down to his ankles, releasing his cock, long and slender as the rest of him, fully erect and eager for her. She tried to sit up again and reach for him, but he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down to the bed. His mouth found her lips, her neck, then traced down her body, kissing each breast with lavish enthusiasm, then her stomach, her hips, until he was kneeling at the side of the bed, her legs parted in front of him. He kissed her thighs softly, tenderly, teasingly, while his right hand slid over her mound, making her writhe against him, craving more with an intensity she'd never experienced before. A finger found its way between her labia, stroking her warm wetness while his thumb found the little nub at the top that made her cry out suddenly, involuntarily, the sudden intense shock of pleasure rocketing through her body. He grinned at her, playing with her lightly, gently with tormenting fingers until she was clutching the bedsheets with both fists, then held her folds open gently and dove in with his tongue, stroking and licking her clit, his fingers probing deeper inside her, spreading waves of pleasure through every nerve in her body. His tongue was expert, darting and teasing, exploring her tenderly one moment and bringing her almost to the edge of climax the next, then pulling back, over and over, until she was almost weeping, begging him for more. 

When she could bear no more, he stood up, and leaned over her again to kiss her softly, his hard length pressing between her legs. “Do you want me inside you, my heart?” he whispered huskily into her ear, teasingly rubbing just the tip of his cock against her clit. 

She moved her hips against him, frantically seeking the right angle. “Django, oh Gods, please, yes, now,” she pleaded, pulling him down to her, her hands sliding down his back to grip his tightly-muscled buttocks, as he positioned himself carefully and pushed into her with one hard thrust. 

She felt the full length of him deep inside her, stretching her, and reveled in it, tightening her muscles around him until he groaned deep in the back of his throat. He pulled out of her, taking care to slide out at just the right angle to rub against her sweet spot, and thrust again as she cried out, pressing her hips up to meet him. Again and again, harder and faster, he thrust, the soft little noises she made seeming to encourage him. She gripped his back hard, electric heat coiling around her spine, pulling him as deep inside her as she could one minute and reveling in the slide of his hard length against her clit the next, the sensation building irresistibly, uncontrollably, desperately seeking release.

“Oh, Mother Earth, my heart, you feel so good, so tight and wet around me...I've wanted you so long, I love you so much....come for me, darling, come around my cock...” he whispered into her ear. He covered the soft spot between her neck and shoulders with nibbles and kisses while his hand came up to fondle a breast, the electrifying gentleness of his touch on her nipple contrasting deliciously with the rough rhythm of his thrusts.

She cried out and arched up against him, the added sensation pushing her over the edge, shudders rippling out from their joined hips, spreading through her whole body until she felt as if she might be shaken apart from the sheer force of it. He followed her the next moment, incoherent words tumbling out of his lips as he spilled inside her, the tremors of her orgasm pulling his from him. 

They collapsed together in a heap, and after a few seconds to catch his breath, he rolled over to her side, pulling her head gently onto his shoulder. He held her quietly for a little while, both of them reveling in the bliss of afterglow. 

“So,” he said finally, teasingly. “I'll tell you my stories if you tell me yours. How did you get this one?” He traced the scar on her hip softly with his thumb. 

“Mmm. I was ruin-diving near Barnarock, and I fell into a crevice, couldn't get myself out – there was some sort of scrap metal nestled in the rock, and I had to bend it to the side before I could climb out, but even so it cut me pretty deep as I was wiggling free. Stupid mistake, nothing heroic about it.” 

“A mark of courage, skill, and the determination to get out of a bind, clearly.”

She laughed. “You're bound and determined to see the best in me, aren't you?”

“My heart, I'm your knight. It's my job.” He kissed her forehead.

“So what about this one?” She traced her finger down a scar that ran all the way from his rib cage to his left hip.

He winced a little. “Duvosian sword, in the battle for Lucien City, the one where Alice and Jack lost their parents, though of course I didn't know them at the time. Or Remington, though he was in the Civil Corps then and must have been fighting in the same lines. The boy who did it couldn't have been much more than eighteen, poor lad. But he was brave, and fast, and I was distracted in the heat of battle.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked softly. 

“To be honest with you, my heart, I don't know. I used the lightning on him,” he held his hand up and to her amazement, she saw lightning crackle swiftly from one finger to the next before it faded, “and if he was strong enough, it might simply have knocked him unconscious, but I'm not sure. I didn't see him move again in that battle. But it's difficult to see anything in the middle of a battle, especially since Duvos was using cannon, and that kicks up a mighty smoke.” He paused. “I've got a mighty horde of ghosts haunting me, you know. I pray for them, every Day of Memories, but they'll find me again, someday, and I don't know what I'll say to them.”

“And what would your spirit say to one of them if they had been lucky enough and strong enough to bring you down? I'm very glad they didn't, you understand,” she hastened to add, “but if they had, would you hate them? Revile them? Seek to hurt them?”

He shook his head. “No. The fortunes of war, no more. Most of them were so young...you know Duvos puts their youngest soldiers in the front lines, to weed out the weak ones and keep them from retreating too easily. And few if any of them are volunteers – military service is mandatory there. They were fighting for their own survival, mostly, not Duvos's tyranny. I can forgive them that, quite easily. But if we had not fought them...if I had not taken so many lives...so many boys' lives, not much older than Toby...” he sighed. “And yet the ones who caused it all remain unscathed, hidden behind their great towers and their armies, sending others out to kill for them, keeping their power and their wealth undamaged by our fighting. We killed those who did not deserve to die, who were no worse than us, trying to survive and be happy in a much more dangerous place, and we had to leave intact those who were at the heart of the evil. It hurts me, my heart.”

She kissed his chest gently, comfortingly. “No wonder you were so willing to give it all up for a restaurant.” 

“Feeding people is much more pleasant than killing them.” He smiled at her and ran a finger over her stomach. “Your turn, my heart. Where did this one come from?”

Her lips twitched ruefully. “Stupidity, nothing more. I leaned too close over a furnace trying to get a bronze bar loose when it got stuck in the back.”

“But I'll bet the end result of your work with that bar was beautiful.”

She shrugged. “It was part of the framework for a new bed for Aunt Kendra – the old one was hurting her back.”

“So born of kindness, compassion, and care for your loved ones. And no one died because of it.”

“Didn't save the Free Cities from Duvosian tyranny, either.” She leaned over and kissed his scar, tenderly running her fingers up and down his chest.

“Small things matter a great deal in this life. Although, my heart, if you continue to do that, some things will get rather larger very soon.”

“Mmm. Is that a promise?” She began to kiss her way down his chest. “And now it's my turn to take care of you, love...”

A sweet eternity – or perhaps an hour – later, he murmured into her hair, “Promise me something, my heart.”

“Mmm?” 

“Promise me that no matter what happens between us, you won't ever give your heart again to anyone who doesn't love you completely, just as you are, just as I do. You deserve no less than the best, darling.”

She smiled sleepily against his chest. “I'd rather just stay with you forever. My knight in shining armor.”

“Rather battered and tarnished armor – but yours forever, as long as you'll have me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Django woke the next morning half-convinced he'd just had the sweetest dream of his life, but neither the bed nor the room were his own, and the feel of Alienor's head pillowed on his chest, the weight of her warm body in his arms, convinced him quickly that she – and his memories of the night before – were very real. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head gently, marveling at the softness of her hair under his lips. 

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled up at him, stretching her body deliciously against his. “Good morning.”

“Best of my life so far.” 

“Mmmm. Mine too.” She kissed him, a soft lingering kiss that might have lead to a repeat of the night's activities had Pinky not chosen that exact moment to leap up onto the bed and yowl directly into her ear. 

“All right, all right, cat, it's feeding time, I know. And I do have to get to the Commerce Guild on time.” She sighed and swung her legs over the bed, scratching Pinky behind the ears. 

“And I need to open the restaurant, and Toby will be expecting his lesson.” He looked over at her, tentatively. “Last night, darling...I have to ask. Did I please you enough that you would be willing to consider doing this again?” He kept his tone light and teasing, but he felt like a puppy hoping to be adopted. 

She turned, and took his face in her hands, kissing his lips softly before she replied. “If you're leaving it up to me, you'll warm my bed every night of my life from now on.”

“As my lady wishes,” he murmured, and returned the kiss with interest. 

Pinky, annoyed, yowled once more and huffed over to her food bowl, pointedly sitting next to it. Alienor laughed, and stood up to fetch a fish from one of her storage boxes, along with an Aroma Apple for Scraps, who was much more polite in his Expectant Look, though his tail thumped vigorously on the ground as she paused to scratch his ears. 

They argued, affectionately and without rancor, over who was going to cook breakfast, and Alienor won, pointing out sternly that it was her cookstove and she didn't try to cook in his restaurant. He had to admit that she made a delicious congee, and was rewarded by a beaming look he could have lived off of for days. 

The domestic idyll was disturbed by a knock at the door. Alienor opened the door to reveal Mali, who glanced at Django and raised a mischievous eyebrow before turning to Alienor with a grin. “Hey, there are some ruins on Starlight Island that need checking out before I go back to report to the Council. Should be safer than the last bunch, or at least I hope so. But I could use a Builder just in case. Wanna come?”

Django felt his stomach twist inside him as Alienor replied cheerfully, “Sure, love to. Just give me an hour or so, OK?”

“All the time you need.” She winked at Django. “I'll meet you by the harbor.” She closed the door behind her and was gone. 

“Let me come with you,” he pleaded, though he knew her answer. “You're a fine fighter, and Mali is superb, but if you're facing a knight, or firewalls like last time...”

“We'll handle it. You're needed at the restaurant, and more importantly, Toby needs you. You're the only father-figure he's got, and if you miss a lesson right now, he'll think you're abandoning him for me. You know how kids are.”

“But if you're in danger...” _If I lose you, just as I've found you..._ his heart was an icicle in his chest. 

“I'm a grown woman and I will handle it.” She raised a stern eyebrow at him, but softened the words by pulling him in for another kiss. “And I will come back to you. I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that. Just remember, my heart, those robotic mechanisms are always weakest at the joints. Don't try to run from them – they're faster than you are. Get in close, nullify the advantage of their extended reach, and strike at the joints. And do NOT try to bring down a knight without Mali and the entire Civil Corps backing you. Or, preferably, me.”

“Yes, sir.” She laughed and kissed him once more before leaving, Pinky at her heels clearly hoping for another fish. 

Django looked at Scraps, who wagged his tail cheerfully. “I suppose we can't guard her all the time, can we?” he sighed resignedly. “Come on, let's go to the restaurant.”

Scraps, who associated the word “restaurant” with the bowls of scraps that had given him his name, barked happily and followed.


	17. Chapter 17

Sonia furrowed her brow at him as he fetched his bronze practice sword from the drawer, and put down a bowl of leftovers for the dog. “You don't look nearly as happy as I expected you to. Something wrong with Alienor? You two didn't have a fight or anything, did you?”

“Oh, no, nothing of that sort. She's...last night...it's all wonderful.” He was aware that he was blushing again, but Sonia just grinned. “But Mali came by this morning to take her on another jaunt through ruins, on Starlight Island this time, and I'm a bit worried. Who knows what's hiding in those old buildings – and last time she was so badly burned...”

“They'll be fine, don't worry. I've seen Mali sparring with Arlo. She's incredible.”

“She is...but there are dangers around here neither of them are prepared for, and I wish she'd let me go with her...”

“If you do that, you're just telling her you don't trust her, or her skill. You're worried about the age difference? Don't treat her like a child.” Sonia wagged a spoon at him sternly. 

“You have a distinct point,” he had to admit. 

“And Toby's waiting outside for his lesson, anyway. Go on, I'll set up the drinks table outside.”

Toby was indeed waiting, hanging upside down by his knees from the tree they used as a practice target. With the agility of a monkey, he swung himself up and then down to the ground, greeting his teacher with a huge grin. “See what I can do?”

“Very good – that's excellent training for your core muscles. Now, take the sword and show me how well you've been practicing,” Django tried to restrain his amusement, but his lips were twitching. 

The familiar rhythms of practice were soothing, and he was quickly caught up in the lesson. At the end, he patted Toby on the back and said, “Well done. You'll be a master swordsman someday, I'll bet.”

“I wanna be a knight, like you!” 

“Trust me, lad, you don't want to have to go through the training I did.”

“Did they beat you?” The boy's voice sounded more fascinated than afraid, Django noted with some amusement. 

“Whenever we failed to dodge. And they woke us at random intervals every night for practice bouts, to make sure we could leap awake at any time, ready to defend ourselves. There was no mercy for the unprepared.”

“At least you didn't have to go to school,” Toby said with a sigh. _Poor Ms. Lucy,_ Django thought. _She works so hard for such little appreciation._

“Ah, but we did. We studied all the things you study, plus military strategy, politics, and diplomacy. And what they fed us...well, it was nourishing, at least. But there's a reason I became a cook after I retired. Never wanted to eat that gruel ever again.”

“Didn't your mom feed you? My mom makes really good food. So do you, 'course,” he hastened to add, with youthful tact. 

“Thank you. But I didn't have a mom to cook for me. They took me from my parents when I was seven. I never saw them again.”

That last struck Toby like a lightning bolt, and he looked up at his favorite teacher, wide-eyed and horrified. “Never?”

“Never. They were afraid Duvos would go after knights' families and hold them hostage, so anyone whose child was taken for knight training would change their names and move, going into hiding. I wasn't allowed to contact them, for their own protection. I don't even know if they're still alive.” It was the second time in a week he'd had to explain his childhood, and it struck him that he'd never before quite realized just how odd and distressing it was. 

“I hope you find out some day,” said Toby, uncharacteristically solemn. 

“I hope so too. But for now, it's about time for you to head off to school. You do have a very loving mother, and she'll be very annoyed with me if I make you late for your education.” 

Toby hugged him, hard. “I'm sorry you lost your family.”

“I am too. I wish I knew where they were. But family can be built, as well as born, and I've found plenty of it here in Portia. You included, lad.” He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. 

Toby grinned at him, and hugged him again. “I love you, Uncle Django.”

“Love you too, rascal. Now off to school with you.”


	18. Chapter 18

The rest of the day was long, tedious, and frustrating, until finally, as he was setting up for the dinner rush, the door opened and Alienor and Mali came through, entirely unharmed as far as he could tell. He was rather embarrassed by how instantly he could feel his face light with joy – _like a schoolboy let loose on holiday,_ he told himself wryly – but was reassured by the same bright happiness spreading over hers, as she reached up to kiss him in greeting. 

“So how long has this been going on?” Mali asked, gesturing at the pair of them with a mischievous expression. 

“About a day. I gave him my heart knot yesterday,” admitted Alienor, blushing. “But I've been in love with him since shortly after I moved to Portia.”

_That long?_ He kissed the top of her head gently. _I am the luckiest man in the world. And quite possibly the most oblivious._

Mali raised an eyebrow. “I knew you were something else from the way you fought, but a woman who can tame one of the legendary knights is a woman to be reckoned with.”

“She is that,” he said fondly. “But I'm not the legend you paint me, I'm just a retired old man who prefers chopping vegetables to cutting up human beings. Knighthood isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

“There's something to that.” A shadow spread over Mali's face. “But you saved more lives than you took, you know. I hope I have too.”

“I do hope so, for both of us.” He changed the subject, unwilling to dwell on the past. “So, did you find anything in the island ruins?”

Alienor bit her lip and looked at Mali. _So they did. Something dangerous._

It was Mali who spoke. “We found the passcode for the locator computer. We've left it with Petra and Merlin for the moment, but we're going to have to decide carefully what to do next.”

“They want us to use it, you know. They want us to get the All Source away from here so they're not under her control.”

“Yes,” said Alienor thoughtfully, “but we want her awake too. We want her controlling them consciously, so we can ask her to help us get rid of the nuclear weapons.”

“If she could, and she hates them so, why hasn't she? Why didn't she destroy them before the Time of Darkness?” Django mused. 

“Perhaps she was worried that other cities still retained them, and that getting rid of the ones near Portia without destroying all of them would only leave Portia, or whatever it was called at the time, defenseless. Perhaps the Time of Darkness knocked her consciousness out, and she's never had a time when she hasn't been either unconscious or directly under human control...” Mali bit her lip. “In any case, we'll be discussing this later with Mayor Gale and the research ladies – I'll keep you both apprised.”

“Thank you, we'd appreciate that.”

Mali turned to leave, but was stopped by Ack, entering at the same time. He paused at the sight of her, looked at Django and Alienor, and appeared to come to a decision. “Ms. Mali, Mr. Django, may I speak with you in private? You too, Ms. Alienor, if you please.” 

They looked at each other curiously, but allowed the AI to lead them to a quiet corner table. He stood beside them- Ack never sat down – and inquired, tentatively, “Ms. Mali, with what sort of family did you grow up?”

“That's an odd question.” She eyed him suspiciously. “My parents were innkeepers in a little village in Atara – they ran a place very like this, except there were beds upstairs to rent. I was an only child...well, not really. I'd had an older brother, but I never met him – he died before I was born. They loved me very much, I know they did, but I think they really wished I'd been a boy to replace their little Janny – they never stopped mourning him.” She paused and bit her lip. “I don't mean to say I was neglected. They were very protective of me, too. They wanted me to inherit their inn, go on and run it as they had, marry some nice local boy and have babies, live the safe tame life they loved...but I couldn't do it. I loved the adventure stories I heard from travelers and soldiers who stayed there, I couldn't get enough of them. I trained in secret with any soldier or knight who would teach me. I guess I always had a rebellious streak.” She sighed. “I always hated them for keeping me so confined, for being so strict. Papa caught me with a sword once, and you'd think I had been about to unleash a second Age of Darkness. His face...I'd never seen him so angry, and Mama sobbed and asked how I thought they could bear to lose another child...I didn't pick up a sword again until they died of the pox three years later. I sold the restaurant, gave them a good funeral and a fancy tombstone, cried over them, left home, and never looked back. But...they loved me, and I loved them, and I guess I carried a bit of them with me wherever I went.”

“What were their names?” Ack gently pressed.

“Well, that's...odd that you should ask, actually. I'd always thought they were named Fifika and Yoska, that was what everyone who knew them called them. But after they died, when I was clearing out the inn before I sold it, I found a picture hidden in an old album in the closet, nothing else in it...here, I've got it with me. I always carry it.” She dug around in her side pack and pulled out a sketch, a young couple holding a laughing baby in their arms. “It's my parents, it's definitely them, with my brother as a baby. But look on the back.” 

She turned the portrait over, and they read the names scrawled on the back. _Djordji, Lumi, and baby Janny – his first Bright Sun Day!_

Django's eyes widened, and he turned the paper over, peering more closely at the picture, his heart constricting in his chest as memories long-buried cried out for attention. “Ack, are you trying to tell me...” His voice broke off, unable to finish the wild thought lest it turn out not to be real. 

Ack nodded. “I examined her hair this morning. You and she are a 52.157% match. Aside, of course, from the DNA all humans share.” 

Mali looked back and forth between them, her brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Django is your older brother.” The words fell onto the table with a nearly audible thud. “The similarity in your genes makes that quite clear, especially when compared with the genes found in the locks of your parents' hair that Django was kind enough to allow me to examine.”

“But...my brother died,” she protested, weakly. 

“No. He was taken for knighthood training at the age of seven, and not permitted to return. Your parents had to change their name and move. He may as well have been dead, as far as they were concerned, and that is likely the story they told others – but clearly they never forgot.”

Tears were falling down Django's cheeks now, and he was not ashamed of them. Alienor, seeing them, wrapped an arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder comfortingly. 

“When they took me away, Papa cut locks of his and Mama's hair, tucked them in her betrothal locket, and shoved it in my hands, so I'd remember them. Look, see the inscription?” He pulled the locket from beneath his tunic, and carefully keeping the hair inside, showed them. _To my Luminitsa, light of my life, from your Djordge._

Mali looked as though someone had hit her with a hammer. “Janny. Django. The Storm Knight is my _brother?_ No wonder they were so afraid when I wanted to learn how to fight. But...why didn't you come home? Why didn't you try to find them, when you retired? They missed you so, they never stopped grieving...” Now there were uncharacteristic tears running down the adventurer's face, too. 

“I tried, I swear I did. But I was acting on the memories of a terrified seven-year-old, remember. It took me a year to find the old village, and when I did, no one there knew where they had gone – by the time I could retire, few in the old village had ever heard of them. I knew they had kin among the Travelers, but they wouldn't speak to me – I was a stranger and an outsider by then.”

“I used to love stories of knights, I always wanted to be one, to go and have adventures and fight tyranny and be a hero and all. You most of all, the great Storm Knight, I wanted to be just like you, it was the greatest honor of my life when I got to fight alongside you – and you're telling me you're my _brother_? I wished so hard...oh, Mother Earth, that would have killed them, to lose a second child the same way, and I wanted it so badly...oh, poor Mama and Papa!” She rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop the treacherous tears that were attempting to escape. 

“You did become a hero, though. And a legend – Mali of the Flying Pigs, Queen of the Adventurers, Ruler of the Air! And you did it yourself, without the benefit of the intensive training I got.” Django squeezed his sister's shoulder reassuringly – his sister! The word reverberated in his head, and he tried without success to catch hold of it and fully register its meaning. 

She looked up at him, smiling ruefully, but there was a mischievous light in her eyes. “They'd be furious with me if they knew.”

He shook his head. “They ought to be proud. I am.” He paused a moment, then asked, tentatively, “Would you show me, someday, where they're buried? I'd like to pay my respects.” 

Mali nodded. “I can do that. I think that would make them happy, if there's anything there of them.” A sudden smile broke over her face. “And at least now they have one child willing to settle down and run a restaurant, and who knows, maybe even give them grandchildren some day...” She waggled her eyebrows at Alienor, who blushed.

“You're the second person in two days who's jumped straight to us having babies. We just got together, for goodness sake.” 

“Who was the first?” Django asked, curious.

“Toby. He wants to be a big brother.” 

“I see,” was all he said, but he couldn't help smiling. 

Ack was looking from one of them to another, almost anxiously. “Then, this news is welcome to both of you? I have not hurt anyone's feelings or caused a breach in social relations?”

“Far from it, Ack. You gave me back a sister I didn't know I had, and a connection to the parents I lost. I'm very grateful to you.” Django stood and bowed courteously to the AI. 

“Yeah, Ack, me too. It's good to have my brother back.” Mali grinned at him, stood up, and pulled him into a fierce hug. Alienor was beaming at both of them, dabbing at her eyes with the napkin.

“Hey, wait now!” Sonia protested, catching sight of them as she passed by on her way to refill Gust's drink. “I mean, I know I encouraged you to go out and get some, but two girlfriends is pushing it, Bossman...”

He laughed out loud, and let go of Mali. “Sonia, may I introduce you to my long-lost sister?”

She nearly dropped her tray. “Sister?”

“Ack found out for us. She was born after I got taken for training. I never even knew I had one.”

She put down the tray, clapped her hands together with a loud squeal of delight, and grabbed Mali in a huge hug. “I'm so glad, I'm so glad!”

Mali laughed and hugged her back, asking Django over her shoulder, “So is this the baby sister you adopted for us, then?”

“You could say that,” he said fondly. “That's the thing about Portia. It's a tiny little town, and most of us come here from someplace else, so we tend to find family where we can.”

“The Flying Pigs are the same way. You can have a spot with us anytime, you know. I mean, you always could have, you're the Storm Knight, but even more so now.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm ready to put down roots now.” He laid a hand on Alienor's shoulder, and her hand came up to cover it, squeezing his affectionately.

“Good, 'cause I could use the help, Bossman. Place is starting to fill up for dinner, and I can't cook like you do...” Sonia gave him a pointed look. 

“Right, right, back to work now. Ack, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Mali, I'll do my best to be the protective older brother I always should have been.”

“Don't you DARE!” she glared at him, hands on her hips, and he laughed. 

“Joking, joking. I know full well you can take care of yourself. But I'm glad to have you back. And you, love,” he smiled at Alienor, “I'll see you later.”

“Promise?” she grinned wickedly at him, and he leaned over to kiss her. 

As he went back to the kitchen, he heard Sonia lean over to Alienor and ask, in what she clearly thought was a whisper, “So if you don't mind my getting personal, how is Bossman in bed? I've always wondered...just out of curiosity, you know...”

“Even better than he is in the kitchen,” replied Alienor with an audible smirk, and Django felt his ego jump several notches when he heard Sonia's indrawn whistle.


End file.
